The Related Worlds of Neville Longbottom
by Miss Saigon
Summary: There are 9 related worlds. Nine versions of each of us. Now some cosmic cock up has led to the worlds colliding, and Neville is forced to face the ways his life might have gone, in another lifetime. Or five lifetimes. Or nine.
1. The Related Worlds

Pain had happened.

That was the only thing he knew for sure. He wasn't even sure where he was. He had passed out in the dungeon in Malfoy Manor, but what did that prove? He didn't seem to be there anymore. The ground was softer, for one thing. Earthier. Grass?

He couldn't think. His head was pounding. His back felt like it had been ripped to shreds, naked flesh exposed to the air with no skin to protect it. He could feel congealed blood on his hands and around his waist where it had pooled around the edge of his thin cotton trousers. How many lashes before he had passed out? Forty? More? Why wasn't he dead? Bitch probably slipped him a healing potion again…

He thought about opening his eyes. Nah, that seemed like a bad idea. Maybe he could go back to sleep, and if he slept long enough maybe he could just die, peacefully…

_"Oh HELL."_

A voice, unfamiliar, on the edge of his hearing. It was swearing, mumbling curse words, coming closer. He tried to move, to get away from the voice - it didn't matter who it was. The chances of them not wanting to hurt him were slim to none. And he didn't think he could take any more pain…

_"Hermione? It's me. I've got another one. It's really bad. No, worse than the last one, I'm not kidding… there's blood everywhere! He needs a healer! Fuck. Yeah, I'll meet you there. Okay." _

He moaned and flexed his fingers, trying to drag himself up, but suddenly the voice was right next to him. _"Don't move. It's all right, I've got you..." _

He took a sharp breath and his eyes came open of their own accord. The view was fuzzy with the pain. A man was bending over him, holding a wand.

"Don't…" he begged, hoarsely. "Please…" He hated begging. He only did it when there was nothing left, no fibre of resistance left in his body.

_"It's all right," _the voice said again. _"You're safe. I'm going to Apparate you to the St. Mungos. Take my hand." _

He had no intention of doing any such thing, but rough, strong fingers were already being forced between his, and then…. no, please no, he was _dying_. He couldn't breathe, his chest was being squeezed in a vice, his head was going to _explode_…

~*WWW*~

When he woke the next time, he was lying on a bed. This was amazing in itself. He couldn't remember the last time he had had his own bed to sleep in. The next thing he realised was that he could think, marginally clearly, for the first time in days. He opened his eyes to a white ceiling, and turned his head to see a row of beds. A hospital, maybe. Definitely not the dungeon.

"He lives."

He jumped at the voice and looked quickly to the other side. The movement jarred his back, and a lance of pain went through him. He was used to pain though, and only grimaced as he squinted at the owner of the voice.

There was a young man lounging on the bed next to his. He didn't seem to be injured. He was fully dressed in long, dark robes and tall, expensive-looking boots. He had dark, loosely-curled hair and was looking at him curiously. He was really familiar, but he couldn't think where he had seen him before.

"Kneazle got your tongue?" the man asked, raising both dark eyebrows.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hacking coughing fit.

The man seemed unimpressed at watching him hack up his lungs onto the clean white sheets. "Merlin. I hope you haven't got some kind of plague."

He ignored the man, concentrating on breathing between violent coughs. "Fuck," he managed to splutter hoarsely when it was just about over. "Why aren't I dead?"

"You look dead. Less dead than when they brought you in, but still." The man shifted on the bed.

He realised with a shock that the suave man was _handcuffed _to the bed he was sitting on. The handcuffs were red - enchanted? They'd have to be, to hold any kind of decent wizard.

"Are you… a rebel?" he asked, eyes wide. Was it possible the man had _just _been captured? Had he been on the outside this whole time? He didn't look like a slave, more like a Pureblood, with his fancy boots and well-kept hair. But why else would he be a prisoner? "Why are you…"

"Oh, this?" The man shook the handcuffs and shrugged. "Guess they're afraid I'll make a break for it. They've all gone for food. Nice of them to leave me behind to watch you, eh? You've been out for hours. I wouldn't move too much, by the way - "

He had tried to sit up, and fell back with a groan. His back burned with the fire of a thousand hot suns. He cursed, loudly.

"Nice language," sneered the man on the bed. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to swear like that? Or don't you have one? Only two of us has real parents, so far, and apparently mine don't count."

He felt a rush of anger that momentarily outweighed the pain. He glared. "Don't you dare say anything about my mother!"

The man seemed unfazed by this. "Only if you don't say anything about mine. What's your name?"

He blinked, wondering if he should tell him. He still didn't know where he was. Had he been kidnapped? Or rescued? It seemed unlikely. Maybe he should be trying to keep his identity a secret. But then, that was stupid. Anyone could find out his name. He reached under the covers with his right hand for his left wrist, the silver band encircling it tightly, too tight to move more than half an inch in either direction. "Neville," he muttered.

The man blew a lock of hair out of his eyes, apparently annoyed. "I know _that_," he said. "What's your last name?"

Now he was thoroughly confused. If he knew one name, he would know the other, surely? "Er… Longbottom."

"Damn. So are all the others. Guess I'm just special." He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm Neville Lestrange."

He felt a chill go down his spine at the name. "L… Lestrange?"

"Yeah, most people have that reaction. I was adopted. Never thought about it much until I came here - don't!"

He had scrambled to the other side of the bed on his elbows. His back screamed protests of agony, but he couldn't afford to think about that now. Lestrange was just playing _games_ with him now! "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Who?" the man frowned. "My mother? Back home, probably. Somehow I doubt she's pining with too much worry about me. Oh, stop that." He sighed. "I'm told she's dead here. She's not going to do anything to you."

Neville thought his head was going to explode. "What… what the hell is going _on_? Where am I? Who _are _you?"

"You're in St Mungo's, that's easy enough to answer. As to what the hell is going on… well, your guess is as good as mine. Me? I'm Neville. So are you. There are five of us now, if you count the original one from this world. They call me Neville C." He made a grimacing expression at this as if to show just what he thought of this unoriginal moniker. "You'll be Neville E, I guess. Hermione will explain it better than me."

"Hermione…" Neville felt his heart lift a little despite the pain, the confusion and the rising nausea. "Hermione's here?"

"Yes - not your Hermione though, the Hermione from this world. Get it?"

"No. What do you mean, _this world_?"

"There's more than one. Apparently. Same people, different lives. I grew up as the heir to one of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain, and you… were fed to some kind of wild animal, I'm assuming?"

Neville glared. He decided he did not like this man. Even if he was another version of himself, which was impossible… wasn't it? He frowned and tried to focus on the features. The man's face was much better fleshed than his own, his skin better coloured, his hair richer and healthy-looking. Perhaps it was_ possible_ that if he, Neville, hadn't been locked inside for four years, if he had washed properly at all in that time, or spent any time in the sun, or eaten properly… maybe he would look like that. Maybe.

"Oh, you're awake!"

Neville looked up quickly to see a tall, bushy-haired woman hurrying into the ward. There were a few more people trailing behind her, but he was so glad to see her that he barely looked at them. The last time he had seen her… well, she had been a lot thinner, for one thing. Her hair had been cropped short, and she had been looking at him through bars. This was the girl he remembered from before the war, Ron's girlfriend, the one who had helped him with his Charms NEWT, before everything had gone to hell.

"Hermione!"

She smiled at him. "I'm so glad you're all right, we were so worried - he hasn't been saying anything horrible, has he?" She gave the man on the bed - Neville C? - a dirty look, and he raised his non-cuffed hand in a kind of mock surrender.

"N-no…" he looked between them with confusion. "He was trying to explain… I still don't get it…"

"Never mind that right now, we have to make sure you're not going to collapse again! How's your back?"

Neville moved gingerly, testing. He realised that there must be bandages on under his clothes - white hospital pyjamas, not too unlike his uniform in any case - because there seemed to be a lot of padding back there. He couldn't reach to feel, though, and every movement sent another wave of searing pain up and down what had been raw flesh. "Better?" he said.

"Mm." Hermione seemed unconvinced. "You were almost dead when Neville brought you in. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Neville suddenly felt sick with humiliation. Of course he remembered. The same thing had happened almost every night for the last week. If he hadn't been so _stupid_, it would never have gone so far. If he had kept his mouth shut, he could have spared himself.

Hermione seemed to accept his silence as explanation. She waved forward one of the people she had brought with her. "Could you just check? We need him to be able to think clear enough for this conversation - I don't want to put him though anything like this if he's in pain…"

Neville looked up at the man she brought forward, and blinked in surprise. He looked just like the handcuffed man. Perhaps not quite as suave, not as well dressed - he was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt, Muggle clothes he hadn't seen the like of in years - and not in quite as good shape, physically. But they definitely could have been twins, if not brothers.

"Er… are you Neville too?" he asked nervously.

The man smiled. It was a much kinder smile than Neville C's. "You're catching on. I'm Neville B. I'm a Healer. Is it all right if I check you over, quickly? It won't hurt."

Neville felt like a child being fed a nasty tasting potion. He swallowed. "I… I haven't had a healer… in years. I…"

"Don't be afraid. It'll help." The man sat beside him on the bed and put a cool hand on his forehead. Neville closed his eyes. It seemed to happen automatically, as though he hadn't consciously made the decision to do so. At first nothing seemed to happen, then it was as though something gentle was stroking at his mind. It felt weird, but it didn't hurt. In fact, after a minute he felt relaxed, then peaceful. As though all the pain and terror of the last few days were slowly being extracted through that cool touch. The throbbing pain in his back slowed, then faded.

When he opened his eyes, Neville B was looking at him with tears visible in his eyes. "Who did this?" he asked hoarsely.

"Neville," Hermione said warningly.

Neville B looked up at her and nodded sadly. "He's all right for now. He needs rest, but…"

"Can I talk to him?"

"I'm still here," Neville reminded her. He shuffled up into a sitting position. His back twinged, but didn't ache as much. "That's… much better." He looked at Neville B. "Thank you."

The man nodded, then looked away as though he couldn't bear to meet his eyes for too long. He sat on the bed next door, keeping as far away as possible from the handcuffed man, Neville noticed. Hermione and the third man sat on the bed on the other side.

Neville turned his attention to this man for the first time. It was definitely another Neville. He looked more like Neville B than Neville C, but still nothing like Neville E. He looked like he had grown up eating proper food, and he was wearing good clothes. Or they would have been good, if there wasn't blood all over them.

"It's yours," said the man, noticing him looking. "You popped up in my sitting room and bled all over the carpet."

"Oh." Neville wondered if he was meant to feel guilty about that. How could he help where he bled over? Even Lestrange didn't punish him for bleeding. She liked it when he bled.

"Neville, this is Neville A," Hermione said gently. "The… original Neville. That is, he's the Neville for the world we're in at the moment. Do you… know about the related worlds?"

Neville stared at her. "No?"

"Right. Well… it's a bit complicated, but long story short… there are hundreds of worlds. Some of the similar ones are connected, and those worlds are called a world series. There are usually nine to a series. The connected worlds can be observed by the others, to _some_ extent, usually only in dreams or magical trances. The related worlds usually have a lot of the same people in them, but because the worlds are different, the people are different, too."

"So…" Neville tried to force his brain into some kind of order. New information was not something he was used to dealing with. He couldn't remember the last time he had learned something new. It was always orders, do this, do that, _don't_ scream until I tell you to… "There are nine versions of me?"

"Theoretically, yes." Hermione agreed. "Though in your case we know at least one is dead, so no more than eight."

"How do you know one is dead?"

"Well, I'm getting ahead of myself really. This all started a month or two ago. Neville B here," she gestured to the healer. "Appeared on our Neville's doorstep without any idea how he got there. You all seem to come through near our Neville, for some reason. Three more have arrived since then, including you. I'm trying to figure out how to sort all this… I've been doing a lot of research into the related worlds and trying to contact them. I got through to one world in a trance, but I couldn't find their Neville because he was killed when he was sixteen."

"Oh," Neville couldn't think of what to say to that. "But… why is this happening?"

"No one knows. There's some kind of instability in the related worlds that's led to all of you being shoved into the one world. It sounds insane, at first, I know…"

"It still sounds insane," yawned Neville C, tugging at his handcuffs. "Can someone take these off now?"

"No," said Hermione and Neville A, together.

Neville C rolled his eyes. "They all hate me. It's not fair."

"But…" the conversation from earlier was coming back to haunt Neville with a vengeance. "He said his name was Lestrange… that _can't _be…"

"It is," said Neville A, darkly. "He was adopted as a baby. In his world, Bellatrix Lestrange rules wizarding Britain, and she's his mum."

"It's not like I _asked _to be adopted," Neville C growled.

"You're a Dark Wizard," Neville A said shortly. "The handcuffs stay on."

"I told you, I'm not even in the army, I've never killed anyone -"

"Shut up."

Hermione shook her head. "Will the two of you stop? You're scaring him."

Neville was shaking. "N-no, I'm fine. Just… being Lestrange's son… I'd rather _die_…"

"Tell me about it." Neville A looked exhausted.

Neville C made a grimacing, sulking expression and stopped tugging on the handcuffs.

"There are _some_ things you all have in common so far," Hermione continued, giving her Neville a warning look. "You're all called Neville. Your parents - biological parents," she added, rolling her eyes as Neville C looked about to protest. "Were - or are - Alice and Frank Longbottom. And you're all the same age, that is, from the same time in your relative timelines. It was April fourth for you, wasn't it?" she asked, with typical Hermione-ish thoroughness.

Neville hesitated. "I'm sorry, I… I don't know," he said eventually. "I'm twenty-one, I think, if that helps… sorry…"

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "All right. Don't worry about it. Now, it's going to take some getting used to, I'm afraid. There are probably a lot of things that are different here to your own world. There might even be some people alive who are dead in your world, or vice versa. Some people might not have been born. We're keeping you all in a safe place until we can figure out what's going on and how to reverse it…"

"What?" Neville gasped. "Reverse it? You're going to send me _back?_"

"Er…" Hermione looked a bit shaken. "Well… everyone else has wanted to go back, so far…"

"I don't! You think I want to go back, to that… that place, that house, to be enslaved, and _tortured_…" Neville felt hot tears come to his eyes, but he would _not_ cry, he hadn't cried in years, and he was not going to do it now. The pain was coming back with a vengeance, his back fired up and he bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. "I won't go back!"

"Oh dear." Hermione looked at a loss for words.

Neville B leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. Neville tried to shake it off, but the man had a surprisingly strong grip.

"Let me _go!" _

"You need to rest." The voice was very commanding. Hard to resist. The cool hand came once again to rest on his forehead, and he was vaguely aware of a wand in the man's other hand. "Sleep."

"No… don't send me back… please… Lestrange…"

"Shhh. It's all right. Sleep. You're safe, now."

He didn't want to sleep, he wanted to argue some more, but sleep was taking him over all the same. He let his head fall back with a soft thud onto the pillow, and and felt gentle hands straightening his arms and brushing his unruly straw-like hair out of his eyes.

"Sleep..."

**Notes:**

The related worlds is an idea created by Diana Wynne Jones in the Chrestomanci series. The Nevilles are all characters I've played in various role play games, and Neville A is also the canon one, of course. I thought it might be fun to try and write them all at the same time. I have some ideas, but whether I get far with it kind of depends on whether people are interested enough, so please let me know if you would like more of this story :)

Oh, and Neville D will make an appearance eventually. I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with five of them in one go, and he's a bit complicated...


	2. Accident and Emergency

**Chapter 2: Grimmauld Place**

The hospital did turn out to be St. Mungos. This proved to Neville more than anything else that the insane story he had been told was true. He knew that St Mungos had been destroyed in the war. He had seen the ruins. He had seen the piles of bodies in hospital gowns, heaped together like rubbish, and known that his mother and father had been among them. To be sitting in the hospital now, being treated by Healers who were kind to him as they fed him potions and dressed his wounds and fed him real food, proved beyond doubt that he had to be in a different world. Back home, no healer would touch him without permission from his mistress, and kind words were something he had long ago ceased to expect.

It took three days to heal the effects of the flogging and stabilise his nutrition to the point where he was allowed to get out of bed. They had to keep the blinds closed for the next two days to get his eyes used to the light, while he got used to his legs again, tottering around the ward. There were five beds in the ward but no other patients ever came in, only the Healers, and a specialist curse breaker they brought in to look at his wrist band. The man poked at the silver bracelet for an hour with his wand before giving up. Well, he didn't give up in so many words, but Neville could have told him from the start that he wouldn't be able to remove it. Those bracelets had been designed by Voldemort himself, and no known spell could remove it. No tool would break or even dent it, paint or dirt would not stick to it. Similarly the words on it could not be changed without a magical contract signed in blood.

He assured the Healers that it didn't hurt him, and they let him alone after that, though it earned him some odd looks when he had to be bathed with it on. He didn't care, though. The bath was glorious. His last one seemed like months ago, and the cleaning charms they must have used on him when he came in were nothing to it. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so clean.

After the bath, they surprised him by giving him clothes, rather than the hospital pyjamas he had been wearing. The blood-soaked trousers he had been wearing on his arrival had no doubt been burned. The clothes they gave him were a pair of black track pants and a red T-shirt bearing the slogan _Gryffindors Do it Better_. He put it on. It was about three sizes too big for him, but he didn't care.

Neville A was waiting for him in the ward when he came back from washing. Neville hesitated. He hadn't seen any of the other Nevilles since that first day. Hermione had been back, once, to assure him that they wouldn't send him back if he didn't want to go. They would just have to figure out a way to… make it work, she had said. Neville wondered how Neville A felt about that, another version of him showing up and wanting to share worlds. At least he didn't look angry. In fact he looked rather amused. "That's shirt's huge on you," he said amiably. "I thought it would be, but it's the smallest one I've got."

"I like it," Neville assured him. "Thanks."

"No problem. I figured you were probably a Gryffindor, too. B was. C wasn't, but who cares about him."

Neville didn't blame him for the grim expression. Neville C was a lot more worrying than either of the others. "Let me guess, Slytherin?"

"Not really a surprise, is it? That guy gives me the creeps, I won't lie to you."

Neville smiled. It was a weird feeling to do so and not get slapped in the face for his tenacity. "Don't we all give you the creeps?"

Neville A laughed. "Ha. You have no idea. Well… I guess you do, come to that." He shook his head. "Never mind. Ready to leave this place? Healers reckon you're all done up, just no marathon running or Quidditch world cups, or anything like that."

Neville's heart sank. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave St. Mungos. He felt safe here. "Um…"

Neville A seemed to sense his anxiety. "Don't worry, mate. I'm coming with you. It's a safe place, I swear."

Neville nodded quickly, before he could change his mind. If he couldn't trust himself, who could he trust? "Okay."

"Okay then. This way. Hermione's organised us a Portkey."

Neville hurried along behind the man. They were the same height, he realised. Exactly the same height… though Neville A was obviously a lot more well-built. It was hard to see the resemblance to himself in the other Nevilles. Though that might have something to do with the lack of mirrors in the Malfoy dungeon.

It was strange, he thought, that they were all the same person, biologically, yet he already thought of them as quite different people. B was kind and gentle. C was an ass. A was matter of fact. And I'm E, he thought to himself ruefully, as something else occurred to him. "What about D?" he asked as they left the ward and went down the corridor towards the lift.

"Hm?"

"Neville D. If I'm E, there must be a D I haven't met yet. Was he a Gryffindor? You didn't say."

Neville A pressed the button for the lift, and didn't immediately answer. "No," he said eventually. "He wasn't a Gryffindor."

"Oh. Not another Slytherin?"

"No. They didn't have houses where he came from. No Hogwarts."

"_What?_"

A world without Hogwarts? That seemed truly impossible. Even his own world had Hogwarts. Sure, now it was corrupt and black as hell and anyone with a trace of Muggle blood would be lucky to get within a mile of it, but _still_…

"He'll tell you. You'll get to know all of them before long, I expect."

They went down in the lift to the ground floor. A few people were milling around, but no one looked twice at the pair. Neville A did a cursory glance around before leading the way through the waiting room.

It felt weird to be walking through a building that he _knew _was gone and had been for years. He had mourned its loss. When he was younger, before the war, he had come here every week during the holidays, with his Gran.

Suddenly he stopped, right there in the middle of the waiting room. Neville A kept walking for a few steps until he realised he had left him behind. He hurried back. "What's up?" he asked. People were starting to stare. "Come on, we'll miss our Portkey."

"My… mum and dad…" Neville turned wide eyes towards his counterpart. "Are they… here?"

Neville A frowned. There was a long silence. "_My_ mum and dad are here," he said eventually, the emphasis on 'my' as clear as he could make it. "Were your parents here, where you come from?"

"No… I mean yes, they were… but it was destroyed, in the war, they were killed…"

Something painful flickered in A's eyes, but he blinked, and it was gone. He put a hand on Neville's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Neville couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. He'd been sitting uselessly in that hospital bed for days and hadn't even considered the fact that, in this world, his parents might still be alive. They might have been just a few rooms away. Just a few steps. "Can I see -"

"No." The sharpness in A's voice was almost shocking. Neville flinched and tried to pull away from the hand on his shoulder. "No," A repeated, a bit kinder. "I'm sorry… you have to remember, this is _my_ world. They're not _your _parents. They're mine. I'm not you, and you're not me. Understand?"

Neville felt like the floor had been swept out from under him. The whole new world concept had been relatively easy to grasp, before. He felt like punishing himself, House-Elf style, for not exploring the hospital before. He could have seen them again, just for a minute, and no one would be any the wiser. "Yeah, I get it," he said eventually, unable to stop a hint of resentfulness in his voice.

A released his hold on Neville's shoulder, though he seemed less than convinced by this short assent. "Right. Come on then, or we really will miss it." He led them out through the waiting room, where nearly everyone was intrigued by their exit, and into the street. Behind them the hospital doors became the familiar facade of the empty shop window.

A started rummaging around in a nearby dustbin. "Right… must be something in here… I'm guessing something coded like a - aha!" He pulled what looked like a tattered old book from the bin. The pages were falling out and the front cover looked like it had been chewed by rats. "Hold on," A said, holding it out, and Neville grasped a filthy page reluctantly. "Any minute now -"

They waited for what seemed like only seconds, and then Neville felt a sharp pull at his navel, and the whole world turned briefly upside down and inside out, and then he was standing in a residential street. He let go of the book as though it had scorched him, and A tossed it away. "Thought you might prefer that to Side-Along Apparition, seeing as you passed out the last time," he said. Neville wondered if that was meant to be a joke.

"I think I prefer walking," he said sullenly.

Neville A didn't seem to know what to say to this. In the end, he shrugged, and beckoned him towards the nearest house. It certainly stood out on the street. It was very large, much bigger than those to either side, and not nearly as modern. It reminded Neville a bit of Malfoy Manor. He shrank back.

"It's okay," Neville A said, starting to sound exasperated. "This is Harry's house. He doesn't live here right now, obviously… he's leant it to us for a bit while we sort things out. It's got so many protections on it, it's one of the safest places in the wizarding world, after Hogwarts - what is it _now_?"

Neville had been staring at him, wide-eyed, since the words 'Harry's House'. "Harry's alive?" he said, when he had recovered enough to form words.

A looked like he was about ready to lose his calm exterior. "Of course he's alive. You think we'd all be walking around happily in the sunlight if he wasn't…" Suddenly his eyes widened and he trailed off. "Oh. Sorry."

Neville didn't say anything else, but walked past him, down the garden path and up to the house. A hurried after him to knock on the door with the butt end of his wand. There was a pause.

"Who is it?" called a voice from inside.

"It's A and E," said A, then groaned softly. "Don't let me ever say that again," he muttered.

"Why?" Neville asked.

"Just don't, we'll be a laughing stock - hey, B."

Neville B had answered the door. He was wearing a green Healer's robe over the same shirt from the other day, and he was grinning. "A&E?"

"Shut up." A nudged Neville, and he quickly stepped over the threshold into the house. It was quite nice on the inside. The walls were mostly whitewash, but there were curtains and a couple of paintings to add colour. From here he could see through to a nicely-furnished living room.

"Probably a very appropriate metaphor," B was saying as he shut the door. "It's good to see you E. Welcome to Grimmauld Place. How are you?"

"Much better thanks," Neville said.

"You look it - still need some more food and some sun, though. We can get you started on that first one, at any rate, want some tea?"

Neville nodded eagerly. "Yes please."

They went through to the living room, from which B went into a kitchen and came out carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Neville took one quickly, waited to make sure no one was going to take it away from him, and then stuffed it in his mouth. "Where are the others?" A asked, accepting his tea with a grateful sigh.

"D's in his room, brooding, probably. C came down earlier and quoted some bloody awful poetry at me."

"I'm sorry."

"Not sure if he was cursing me or just trying to make a point. From the hints, though, I think he might be in love with his cousin."

"What?"

"Adopted cousin, obviously, so maybe it doesn't count. Doesn't mean I need to know about it, though. I have enough problems."

"Don't we all?"

"Speaking of, have you, ah… heard from Hermione, since last time?"

"She'll come tomorrow. We have to go round again."

"_Again_?"

"Introduce the new kid." Neville belatedly realised they were talking about him, and looked up. "She's gathering the troops."

"Fantastic. At least everyone knows me, I can do the short version. I'm going to have to get more time off work, though." A ran a hand through his hair and made a face. "I must be the only Auror in the history of the department to continually cite 'inter-dimensional rift' as a reason for leave."

Neville swallowed his biscuit. "You're an Auror?"

A nodded. "For now, anyway. At this rate I'm going to become a full-time dimensional chaos-wrangler."

B grinned. "Maybe you should rethink taking up Professor McGonagall on her offer."

Neville felt a twinge. So McGonagall was alive, too. Harry, McGonagall, his parents… how many other ghosts could this world magically conjure up for him?

"Mate, I think about it every day. Teaching a bunch of kids how to de-pod a Snargaluff stump suddenly seems inviting." A put down his teacup. "I better get back. Can you manage things here until tomorrow?"

B nodded.

"Right. See you, E."

Neville waved half-heartedly. He had the feeling that A was glad to see the back of him as he left the living room. They heard the front door open and close, and then the sound of Apparition. Neville frowned. "It doesn't _seem _safe."

B looked curiously over at him. "Hm?"

"This house. He said it was one of the safest places in the wizarding world… but he just Apparated off the doorstep, and there were no curses or anything on the door…"

B chuckled. "It's deceptive, I know. But you have to be let in, you see. There's a truth spell on a mirror by the door, so you can tell if someone lies about who they are. And if we refuse to let someone in, they could be there for weeks and not be able to force their way in. There _used _to be a Fedelius charm on it as well, but it got complicated once we starting showing up. Trust me, it's protected, even if there were anyone trying to find us, which I don't think there is. They're trying to keep us a secret for national security rather than our own safety."

Neville relaxed a little, but not entirely. It just seemed too good to be true that some unknown magical event had landed him safely out of Lestrange and Malfoy's reach forever. He looked down at the silver band on his wrist. There were at least three alarms on it, he knew. One was supposed to land him in a magical coma if he so much as took a step outside of the manor without permission. Maybe it just didn't work outside of his own world, but they would definitely have noticed he was gone, by now. Where would they look for him? Would they figure out what had happened? Would someone try and come after him? Lestrange was mad enough to do it, no doubt about that.

"You all right?" Neville B asked him, and he jumped.

"What? Yeah… fine. Just… thinking about home."

B gave him an appraising look. Neville suddenly remembered when the man had touched him, before, when the touch had made him feel temporarily better. _Who did this? _he had asked, with sorrow in his eyes. Some of that same sorrow was there again now.

Neville drew back into the sofa and wrapped his arms around his knees. "You don't have to feel sorry for me," he muttered. "I don't need your pity."

"I don't -" B protested, then shook his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. I would hate it, if it were me." There was a pause. "You don't have to tell me," he added. "We're going to get into it tomorrow, and that'll be more than enough for you. Still hungry?"

Neville shook his head. As much as the idea of more food was tempting, he knew from experience that too much food after being starved for so long would only lead to his throwing it up again. The Healers had been very careful about feeding him, and had mostly done so with nutritional potions, which made him feel full but didn't exactly excite the tastebuds.

"Right then. Shall we find you a room? C's room is on the third floor, we kind of leave him to it. I'm on the second floor and D is on fourth. There's plenty more on each, but it's up to you…."

"The higher the better," Neville said quickly. The further he was away from any possible dungeons the place might have, the safer he would feel. B nodded understandingly, though surely he couldn't guess the actual reason for his choice.

"Come on then."

They went out to the whitewashed hall again, and climbed a wide staircase up to the fourth floor. As they passed it, they could hear banging and swearing coming from the third floor. B shook his head, wearily. "We took his wand away on the first day," he explained. "He _says _he wants to get home, and he'll cooperate with us, but frankly no one much trusts him. He's been trying to get the hang of wandless magic ever since then, with varying results. Mostly he just blows things up. Do you have a wand?" He asked the question with an air of politeness that suggested he already knew the answer.

Neville shook his head. "No. Can you do wandless magic?"

"Me? Merlin, no! Can you?"

Neville hesitated for a moment before answering. "Well… I can do a few small things… healing spells. I had to learn… to help people."

B looked impressed, but Neville did not feel very impressive. "Perhaps I could teach you a few more, while we're - while I'm here," B said. "You can borrow my wand. Cherry and unicorn hair?"

Neville nodded eagerly. He hadn't seen his wand since they had taken it from him and snapped it, at the end of the war.

"So is A. Funny how these things turn out, eh? Right, this is the fourth floor. This one's D's." He pointed to one of the doors. For a moment Neville thought it was painted a different colour to all the others. Then he looked closer and realised it was scorched black in places. He swallowed nervously, but B didn't seem to notice. "If you really want to learn about wandless magic, you can ask him. Just don't get too close." This seemed to be a joke, but Neville wasn't totally sure. He was starting to regret his decision to stay on the floor with the unknown Neville.

In the end, he picked the room on the opposite end of the hallway from the blackened doorway. B told him to make himself at home, so he went and sat on the bed for a while. He wondered what home was supposed to feel like. He hadn't had a home since the war. He'd had cells, patches of floor, cages, and on occasion an actual bed to sleep in, but never a home. This room was nice enough. The walls were painted a sort of dusky blue. The carpets were clean, the bed was clean, there was even a dresser and an armchair. There was a bookshelf, but it was empty. All in all it was nice, but clearly unlived in. He might have likened it to a hotel room, if he had ever stayed in one. Even the rooms at Hogwarts had had a certain something… a sense of safety.

He shook his head. It didn't help to think of Hogwarts. Of his four dormitory-mates. Two dead, one definitely enslaved, one missing, probably in an mass unmarked grave somewhere. He shuddered. Still, being dead was probably better than the alternative.

After a few minutes, he found he couldn't stand it anymore. He had sat in rooms alone for hours, in isolation, sometimes for days, but that had always been because he was locked in, because he had no choice. He wasn't just going to sit here by choice, when the door was unlocked.

He poked his head out into the corridor. No one around. He stepped out and looked up and down the hallway. Most of the doors looked like rooms similar to his own, but there was one with a bathroom symbol on it, so he tried that one, realising belatedly that he hadn't relieved himself since the hospital that morning.

It was a very nice bathroom, on par with any he had been forced to clean over the last four years. There was a large bath and a modern-looking shower, a toilet, a sink and a full-length mirror. He hesitated, then made himself the last few steps to stand in front of it.

As usual, whenever he saw his reflection, it took him a few seconds to associate himself with the image in front of him. The man in the mirror looked very different from the other Nevilles, it was true. He was dangerously thin, with no trace in his face of the roundness he had had all through school. His hair, untended and uncombed, was starting to outgrow the buzz cut they had given him at the market in Diagon Alley, which seemed like a hundred years ago. It was dark, but dull, not rich like C or neatly brushed like B. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was ashen white from lack of sun. When he turned his head he could see the ugly black brand at the base of his neck, an old design that marked him as one of the first to be enslaved after the war. It didn't phase him, he was used to it now, but as he reached up a hand to touch it, the light caught off his silver bracelet, and he let his hand fall. Gingerly he turned sideways-on to the mirror and lifted his T-shirt a few inches. After a very brief look, he dropped the shirt and looked away. If his back had been a mess of scar tissue before, there was hardly any clean skin left now. It was frankly a miracle he was still alive.

_No, _he reminded himself. _Not a miracle. _Lestrange was keeping him alive deliberately, and she knew what she was doing. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that he had survived so far.

He amused himself, after using the facilities, by sitting on the floor and turning the bath taps on and off to see what they did. There were a few extra ones, like there had been at the ancient bath in his Gran's house - oh, so many years ago. One spouted pink bubbles, another was water, but tinted slightly azure and smelling very fresh and nice. He wondered if he could get away with having another bath in one day. Of course that would mean taking his shirt off, and the risk of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror was enough to make him feel slightly ill.

Suddenly he heard a noise outside the bathroom door. Panicking, he reached over and turned the taps off, instinct screaming at him to erase all evidence. The door opened and he shrank back, curling himself small against the edge of the bath.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't realise anyone was in here."

It was another Neville, and he realised he probably should have expected this. Out of all of them, he looked more like Neville himself than any of the others. He was skinny and pale, his hair was unkempt, and he walked with a slight limp. "You're new," he said, taking a careful step into the room. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

Neville realised with humiliation that he was cowering on the floor like a frightened child. Shaking himself angrily, he got to his feet. "I know," he said shortly.

"You must be E," the new Neville said, without much emotion. "I heard you were coming. They call me D. It's one way of telling us apart, I guess. It'll be nice not to be the new boy, any more."

"Thanks," Neville muttered.

"Eh, you'll get used to it." D walked over to the sink and turned the tap to release water into the cup he held in his hand. "Wonder if I should get a bucket," he muttered, apparently to himself. As he moved, Neville saw a thick scar peeking out from under his sleeve. It looked like a burn mark.

"You… weren't at the hospital," Neville said, curiosity overcoming his nerves.

"What?"

"When I first got here… all the others came to the hospital. I was just wondering why…"

"Oh. That." D frowned, then shrugged decisively. "I would have come, but I had a bit of an episode. Told them to leave me behind."

"Er… an episode?"

D rolled his eyes. "Temper tantrum. Sounds childish, I know, but lately when I get angry, things tend to… catch on fire."

Neville's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, what am I, five years old? It's pathetic."

Neville shook his head. "Sounds useful, to me…"

"Well it's _not_," D snapped, his tone suddenly turning hard. "You wouldn't say that if you knew… if you…"

The room was very warm, all of a sudden, and Neville looked down to see a flame flicker between D's fingers. He took a hurried step back. D looked down at his hand and swore. "Sorry, sorry," he sighed, shaking his hand so that the fire went out. "I've got a hold on it, I swear… it's just been hard, since I got here."

Neville swallowed. "When… when did you get here?"

"Few weeks ago. It's been getting worse, too. I've tried to put a lid on it, but…" he shrugged. "There are people at home… that were helping me. Without them… it's just hard." He sighed. "Come on, I'll show you. You may as well be warned, if you're going to be staying up here with me."


	3. Playing With Fire

**Chapter 3: Playing With Fire**

D led Neville back down the hallway towards the blackened doorway. Neville was starting to understand now why it looked that way.

"Er… Neville… um…"

D looked around. "Yeah?"

"Er… A said… he said that where you come from, they don't have Hogwarts. Is that true?"

D's expression darkened. "Yeah, sort of. The building was still there, but it wasn't called Hogwarts. It hasn't been Hogwarts since almost before I was born."

"What's it called then?"

D turned away and opened the door to his room. "It _was _called the Slytherin Academy. Now it's not called anything."

"Why not?"

D turned back to him with fire in his eyes and Neville immediately regretted asking. "It got burnt up," D said eventually, as if daring him to ask any more questions. "About six weeks ago."

"Oh." Neville blinked and turned his attention to the room. It was a lot like his own, but there were black smudges all over the place where little fires had obviously broken out. One was still burning, in the corner. D went over to it and emptied the glass of water over the flames. The fire hissed angrily, but he stomped on it and it went out. "Er…" Neville said, regretting more than ever his decision to live on the fourth floor. "Do you get angry a lot?"

"Recently? Hell yeah. Aren't you angry?"

Neville blinked. "What?"

"Come on. Being dragged away from home, away from your family, friends, everyone… that doesn't piss you off?"

Neville stared blankly back at him. "I don't have any family," he said eventually. "My friends are all dead… mostly. The only people who are going to miss me are the ones who want to kill or torture me. I'm not going back," he added firmly. "Hermione said I don't have to. I don't want to go back."

D cocked his head to one side, regarding him curiously. Neville realised that he was perhaps the first person in this place who didn't look at him with pity in their eyes. "Who wants to kill and torture you?"

Neville shrugged. "Who doesn't?"

To his surprise, D laughed. "Mate, I feel you, honest I do. Up until a few months ago, I probably would have said I didn't want to go back either. People here think they know what torture is..." He shook his head. "They said you were all over blood when you arrived," he said, giving him that curious look again.

Neville shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"I was in a bit of a state, too. Not bloody, but I had burns, and I didn't know where I was. Talk about your full blown panic attack… I've been sick, see. I was out of control."

Neville nodded, through truthfully he didn't feel any the wiser.

"Poor A. I very nearly exploded his bedroom. He's a good bloke, A." He sighed. "Still, this world's all well and good, but I've got to get home. My dad was supposed to be teaching me how _not_ to explode things, and… my girlfriend… well, it's just easier when she's around. I feel on edge all the time, here."

Neville didn't know what to say. "You… have parents?" he asked after a while.

"Mm? Yeah they're alive. Sane. You wouldn't know it though, some of the stuff they've done recently. Like father like son, I s'pose."

Neville sat down with a thump in the scorched armchair. "This is crazy," he moaned, burying his head in his hands. "I can't keep it all straight."

"You get used to it," D said again, sitting back on the bed and flicking ash off the pillow.

"But why me, I mean, _us_? This isn't happening to anyone else, is it?"

"Not that we know of. Course they hardly ever tell me anything, but Hermione knows more about it than anyone else - do you know Hermione? I mean, from before?"

Neville nodded. "Yeah, she was my… _is_ my friend." _She could still be alive_, he reasoned. It was just unlikely.

"Huh. I'd seen her around, but we weren't best pals, or anything. She's pretty close to A in this world, though. At least, they seem tight."

Neville's brain was spinning. "They're not… like…"

"What? Oh no, I don't think so. She's with Ron, Ginny's brother. I think A has a girlfriend, but funnily enough he hasn't introduced her to us." He smiled wryly.

Neville decided D was definitely the most confusing out of the four. He spoke differently, with a kind of cynical confidence that was more like C, but not unkindly. He sounded like he was used to taking care of himself, and was angry at himself for his magic being out of control. And the way he said _Ginny's brother _was odd, too. Neville had always thought of Ginny as Ron's sister, not the other way around.

"Anyway, you look fine now. You could do with some sun, though."

Neville nodded. "Yeah, I keep hearing that."

D hesitated. "Were you… locked up?"

Neville jumped. "What?"

"I know the look. My world… well it's not much fun if you're on the wrong side, put it that way. I know what it's like to be a prisoner."

Neville looked at him and saw the truth in his face. He wondered if his world was not so dissimilar from his own.

"I was… underground," he admitted carefully. "Dunno how long."

"Ah." D nodded as though he understood. "Well, at least three of our worlds' suck so far, so you're not alone. This one's all right, and B's I could probably stand to live in. C is basically royalty where he comes from, the way he tells it, so it must be hell on earth."

"No one wants to live in mine," Neville muttered. "Except You-Know-Who's lot, and they -"

"Hey there."

They both flinched and looked up. Neville relaxed as he saw it was just Neville B looking in at them from the open doorway, but D was already beating out a flame that had sprung up in his duvet. "Damnit!"

"Good to see the two of you are getting on like a house on fire…" B said, leaning against the door jamb.

"Oh, that's _hilarious_," D muttered. "Don't _startle_ me like that."

"You know, I'm really not a half bad Healer," B said modestly. "And I specialise in mind healing… if you'd just let me take a look at you, I'm sure I could help."

"So you've said," D muttered. "And I don't care how good you are, _no one _is messing around in my head."

"Fine. Dinner's on the table," B sighed. "You haven't eaten anything all day."

"All right, sheesh _dad_." D scrambled off the bed. "C'mon E. Hope you like take out."

Neville struggled out of the armchair and hurried after them. "Take out?"

"None of us can cook," B explained as D thundered down the stairs ahead of them. "Can you?"

"A bit…" Neville said dubiously. He wasn't sure if heating leftovers in the fireplace counted.

"I lived on my own for a year and never learned to make more than beans on toast. Since then I've relied mostly on House Elves."

Neville stared. "You have House Elves?"

B snorted. "Well, sort of. My wife has House Elves."

"Your _wife?_"

B sighed. "Yes, I'm married. And I haven't seen my wife in over a month, so I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"Oh. Sorry."

C, still wearing his heavy-looking robe and boots, was already seated at the table in the kitchen, eating noodles gingerly off a plate with a silver fork. "I'm getting sick of this food," he complained as they came in.

"No one cares," D said, reaching for a cardboard box and ripping it open.

"You eat like an ape," C told him, watching him dig into the box with chopsticks.

"This is how you're supposed to eat it, your highness," D said, rolling his eyes. "You should try it."

"If you think I'm going anywhere near that heathen cutlery -"

"Calm down, both of you," B sighed, taking the remaining two boxes and passing one to Neville. "Here you go."

"You should see him try and eat pizza," D chuckled. "It's hilarious."

"_Animals _use their fingers to eat," C snapped. "How did you all get so _uncivilised_?"

"Mate, there was a time when I would have been glad to eat off the _floor_," D said pointedly.

"I'm sorry about this," B said, passing Neville a fork, for which he was grateful, as he had never used chopsticks in his life. "I'm sure it's very overwhelming, with all of us… it was bad enough in the beginning when it was just me and A."

"I'm okay," Neville lied, poking at the noodles with his fork and somehow manipulating them into his mouth. "It's good!" he said with surprise.

D chuckled. "I practically grew up on this stuff. Dad loves it." There was a brief, awkward silence. "Sorry," D mumbled after a while. "I forgot."

"It's all right," B said politely. "We don't resent you, or anything. You're very lucky to have both your parents around."

"Lucky, right," D said darkly.

The rest of the meal was only a little uncomfortable, with B doing his best to include E in the conversion while he paced himself through his dinner. Neville hardly noticed. By the time he had got to the bottom of the box, he was yawning and his head was nodding onto his chest.

"Go to bed," B said kindly.

"But…" Neville looked at the mess of cardboard boxes and chopsticks all over the table. "I should help…"

"It's take out, we just throw all this away," D explained. "Go on, before you fall down."

Even C grunted agreement. Neville remembered suddenly, that first day back at the hospital, when C had tried to stop him hurting himself by moving too much. He had taken it as a threat at the time, but now he realised the so-called 'Dark Wizard' had been trying to help him. He felt some unnamable emotion well up inside him, and he was almost too tired to stop tears coming to his eyes. But he did. "Th-thanks," he managed to say, and fled the room.

Lying on his bed, later, he realised that no one had said or done a single unkind thing to him in a week, ever since he had come here. A was stern, and C put on airs, yes, but no one was unkind. And yet before this week he couldn't remember the last time someone had been kind to him. He felt he didn't deserve kindness. Not when he had lived, and so many others had died, in defence of the light.

He lay there, in darkness except for a single fluttering candle that kept the terrors of the dark at bay. He remembered the day Harry had died. The way everything had fallen apart in a matter of days. The way they had been rounded up - men, women and children - and marked with the sigil brand, and their names magically engraved into the silver bracelet and sold to the highest bidder.

He held up his bracelet to the candle and stared at it. _Neville Longbottom_, it read on one side, and on the other, _Narcissa Malfoy. _It had changed only a few weeks ago. Or months, he wasn't sure. It felt like a lot longer.

~*-NNN-*~

~*-NNN-*~

_In his dream, he was in a cage. It was just big enough to stand up in and wide enough to curl up in, but at least it was outside. The market at Diagon Alley was a dismal, pathetic sort of place. He had never been here before. He had been sold in almost every other market in the country, but always in the countryside, never the big cities, and certainly not London, where Voldemort and his main followers lived. _

_He must be mad, he thought. He had all but organised to get himself here, using every trick he knew to get himself sold closer and closer to the city, until here he was. It was, he reasoned, the best place to find other Hogwarts survivors. Harry was dead, yes. Ron too, everyone knew that, though he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He knew of a few other names - Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Padma and Parvati Patil, Ernie MacMillan, Lavender Brown - all dead. But some of them - some of them HAD to still be alive. Either in slavery, or… well. He had heard rumours. It was said there was a secret resistance group building, gathering strength and numbers and planning to free the slaves and end the darkness the plagued the wizarding world. _

_It was impossible, but if it was true, Neville wanted to help. _

_He sat in his cage with his legs stretched out in front of him, trying to ignore the stench of human filth and despair on the air, closing his ears to where, only a few paces away, a bigger cage was crammed full of children under seven. The pitiful cries were hard to ignore, but there was nothing he could do. Not yet. _

_There was someone approaching. One of the market guards, with a customer, Neville guessed. Carefully, he turned side-on to the front of the cage, not wanting to be overly visible, and wrapped his arms around his knees. _

_"… doesn't have to be able to cook - or clean, for that matter!" a woman's voice shrieked with laughter. "I just want something to play with. The last one didn't last nearly as long as I would have liked."_

_Neville felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice. He shrank further back in the cage, wishing there was more space to hide in. _

_"You're too rough with them, Bella," said a second female voice. _

_"Oh stuff," giggled the first voice. "There's no such thing." _

_The market guard launched into a speech about the current selection. Neville concentrated on making himself invisible. Sometimes they wouldn't buy the ones who looked too weak, or timid. On the other hand, some of them wanted the weak ones. It was a gamble, except that he was fairly sure Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't pick anything pathetic. _

_"This one's new in this morning," the guard said, and Neville realised they were standing right outside the cage. The woman in the cage opposite him was whimpering. Neville hid his face even more with his arms. _

_"You don't want that one, Bella," said the second woman. "Look how scrawny it is." Neville could hear her moving off, looking at the occupants of the cages to his right, but he could feel the other one, Lestrange, still standing there, looking at him. _

_"Let me see his face," she said, and Neville felt his heart sink. The guard uttered a spell. _

_The next thing he knew, he was forced into a standing position, his arms stuck down by his sides. Unable to stop himself, he looked up at the woman on the other side of the bars. She was pale, her dark hair flowing in waves over her shoulders. A far cry from the woman who had escaped from Azkaban all those years ago, perhaps, except that her eyes were still totally mad. She laughed. "Cissa!" she cried out excitedly. "Cissa, look who it is!" _

_The other woman came back, as pale as her sister but with hair as blonde as her son's. She smiled evilly when she saw Neville. "I see him, Bella," she said patiently as her sister started clapping her hands with excitement. "We'll take him," she added to the guard. _

_"Oh _good_," Bellatrix gushed, reaching through the bars to touch Neville on the chin with her long fingernails. He was clean shaven - one of his old mistresses who cared about such things had put a shaving charm on his bracelet, long ago. He hated it, it made him feel like a child. He could not move, the guard's spell holding him in place, so he was forced to stand there while the paperwork was organised, as Lestrange stroked his face and giggled. _

_Eventually the guard came over to her with the enchanted parchment, and she signed her name gleefully. Then the guard opened the cage door and took the spell off, and Neville fell to his knees, unprepared. "Get up," the guard growled, and dragged him out by the collar of his shirt, which was little more than a rag by now. He knew what was next - he had been sold nearly thirty times since the end of the war - and held out his hand reluctantly. It was a lot easier if you didn't struggle, as much as he wanted to, the knowledge of who he had been sold to making his stomach churn. But there was no way he was going to panic now, not with Lestrange and Malfoy looking on as the guard sliced a shallow cut into his hand with his wand and held the cut over the parchment. As the blood hit Lestrange's signature, he felt the bracelet grow hot, and looked down at it with trepidation. _Bellatrix Lestrange_, it read. _

_They apparated him to the big house where the Lestrange's lived. In the dream, they seemed to go straight to the dungeons, though he knew there had been more to it in real life, maybe they taken his clothes, given him some speech about being good, he couldn't remember. He remembered the chains that anchored him to the wall, and he remembered the cupboard in the corner where Lestrange kept all manner of horrible, bloodied instruments. The first time she threatened him with one, he spat in her face. He had been strong, once. Before she had made him feel pain in a way he had never before experienced. _

_"I like it when you scream, pet," she would say, and he bit through his lip to keep from making a sound. It made no difference. He always screamed in the end. "I like it when you bleed… there's a good boy, now…"_

_He lived in a place that seemed to be between life and death, a never-ending agony that broke him down until he would beg and plead for her to stop. But she never did. She liked him to beg. And then she would heal him and it would start all over again. In the dream, it passed in a blur of pain and terror and brief blissful bouts of unconsciousness._

_Then, it had all stopped. For days he had laid there, in his own blood, without food or water, wishing for death, waiting for it, but it never came. And neither did she. He didn't know how long he had waited, flinching at every tiny noise, until finally someone came for him. But it wasn't Lestrange, it was Narcissa Malfoy. _

_"For Merlins sake," she said, treading gingerly over the blood and filth that lined the floor. "I buy her presents and this is what she does with them. Get up." _

_Neville peered blearily up at her past blood-encrusted eyelids. "What… where…" _

_She kicked at him, and he grunted in pain. "Did I say you could ask questions? Get up. We're leaving. Honestly, there's not even any food. I had a feeling something like this would happen - get UP, I said." _

_"I can't," Neville finally managed to say, his voice coming out hoarse and not his own. _

_Narcissa rolled her eyes and brandished her wand. "She healed you before she left or you would be dead by now," she said. "Get up, if you want to live."_


	4. Lower than the Elves

_"I can't," Neville finally managed to say, his voice coming out hoarse and not his own. _

_Narcissa rolled her eyes and brandished her wand. "She healed you before she left or you would be dead by now," she said. "Get up, if you want to live."_

_Neville didn't want to live, but the sight of the wand pointed at him was enough to force him into action. Slowly, painfully, he forced himself to his feet. _

_Narcissa's mouth curled into a sneer as she inspected his naked body. She conjured him a blanket and he clutched at it as she led him out of the dungeon room. He was forced to stop as they reached the stairs, the torches in the corridor too bright for his eyes, and he whimpered and covered them with his hands. "Move," Narcissa ordered, and he stumbled blindly along ahead of her, his body aching and protesting at every step. Twice on the stairs, he almost collapsed, but she let hot sparks fly from her wand, and he forced himself onwards. _

_When they finally reached the top, he fell to his knees and could not continue. She could torture him as much as she wanted, he knew he couldn't go any further. She didn't seem to care, however, she was talking to a House Elf who seemed to appear out of nowhere. The House Elf came over and put a hand on Neville's arm. There was a loud crack, and the next thing he knew he was kneeling on the floor of a different room. The House Elf vanished for a second, but before Neville could get his bearings, it came back with a plateful of food. Neville stared at it. The House Elf put it on the floor and nudged it towards him. _

_Comprehension dawning, Neville reached shakily for the food. After a moment's hesitation he realised it was not going to be taken away again, and he started devouring the food as fast as possible. Meanwhile he could feel the air getting warmer and damper, but he was so focused on the food - only bread and cheese, but the most delicious bread and cheese he had ever tasted - that he didn't think much of the reason for this until he was finished. The House Elf was still there, pointing to an adjoining room, where, he realised, there was a hot bath waiting. _

_"Seriously?" he said to the elf, unable to believe his sudden and unexpected good fortune. _

_"Please wash!" the little creature squeaked, sounding worried. "Mistress Malfoy is very insistent on washing!" _

_"All right, all right…" Neville was not going to argue. He was covered from head to toe in blood and filth, though after the healing there were no open wounds. He was thankful for this as he dragged himself over to the bath on his shaking legs and let himself sink into the water - it was scalding. _

_Fed and bathed, his head felt a little clearer. His body still ached all over with the aftermath of hundreds of cuts and bruises and countless Cruciatus Curses, but he put the pain to the back of his mind and let the water soak the grime of the last few - days? - weeks? - months? - off his skin. _

_He almost fell asleep, but the House Elf started bouncing nervously from foot to foot. "You must get up now!" it said. Neville noted with interest that it did not call him 'sir', like most House Elves he had met. This one must have been ordered not to address slaves with respect, which made sense when he thought about whose house he must now be in. _

_He reluctantly climbed out of the bath and dried himself off with the towel the elf handed him. The next offering was a plain white shirt and matching loose trousers, a fairly standard slave uniform. For lack of any alternative, he put it on. _

_The elf led him back into the first room. It was very small, but it was warm and dry and there was a pallet on the floor that looked very inviting. The door, on the other hand, had no handle or keyhole and was clearly magical. There would be no getting out of this room without permission. "Wait here!" squeaked the elf, as though there might be any other choice, and vanished with another _crack!

_Neville sat on the pallet and put his head in his hands, trying to reason out what had just happened. Lestrange had gone away somewhere, maybe for days. Malfoy had suspected that she hadn't made any provision for her slave and had come to check on him. But even if Malfoy had paid for him, Lestrange's name was on his bracelet, which made her his owner. And it was illegal to move someone's slave without their permission. He wondered how Lestrange would take the news that her sister had liberated her 'pet', and given him food and a bed to sleep in. He had a feeling she would find it somewhat blasphemous. _

_There were footsteps outside the door, and he stood up, his tired muscles screaming protest. Narcissa came through the door holding her wand, the elf at her side. She took a step towards him and examined him critically. "Much better," she said eventually. "You've done well to survive this long, I must say. Bella usually wears out her toys in just a few days."_

_He wondered if he should be thanking her for the compliment. Instead he tried to stay as still as possible, his eyes fixed on a spot just behind her head. _

_"I will organise the paperwork tomorrow," the woman told him. "Since I paid for you there should be no problem in transferring your ownership to me." This did not match up with the little Neville knew of the Dark Lord's law, but he supposed that as one of Voldemort's most favoured supporters, she would have connections in high places. _

_He nodded, not sure if he was permitted to speak. He had no doubts that despite whatever kindness she might have shown him so far, she would have no hesitation in taking her wand to him if he did anything she didn't like. _

_"Bella will be able to visit you whenever she returns," Narcissa added off-handedly, making his heart sink. "In the meantime you work for me, is that understood?" _

_"Yes," Neville said, sensing that the question deserved an audible answer. _

_"Yes?" she prompted, her eyes narrowing dangerously. _

_He swallowed. "Yes Mistress," he said obediently. _

~*-NNN-*~

~*-NNN-*~

When he woke up, there was sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. He blinked and pulled the covers over his head. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken to such brightness. Even the hospital had been dark in the mornings, stuffed into a back alleyway as it was.

Despite having slept through the night, he still felt tired, as though he had lived through several weeks in one night. The dream had told it almost exactly how it had happened in real life, minus a few small inconsistencies. He wondered if it was worth trying to go back to sleep. It wasn't as though he was on any kind of schedule. But no matter how hard he tried, more sleep just would not come.

"Oh fine," he muttered to himself, and dragged himself out of bed. He had slept in his underwear, since no one had thought to provide him with pyjamas, and he put on the same clothes from yesterday without caring that they were wrinkled from sitting in a pile on a chair all night.

Then, for lack of anything else to do, he wandered down the hall to the blackened doorway and knocked, gently.

"Come in," said D's voice.

D was sitting at a makeshift desk he had made out of the dresser. He had a roll of parchment and he was scribbling intently with a bit of old charcoal. When Neville came up behind him he saw that he wasn't writing, but drawing. It was a picture of a young girl. "How'd you sleep?" D asked.

"Fine. I didn't know you could draw," Neville said politely.

"Neither did I," D said, motioning for him to sit on the bed. "But it's helping. I haven't had an incident all morning."

Neville sat and peered closer at the drawing. It was obviously from memory, and so not very accurate, but there was something familiar about her all the same. "Who is it?" he asked eventually, giving up.

"Ginny," D said without looking up. "My girlfriend."

"Oh." Neville tried to keep his face straight. This guy? And Ginny? Everyone knew Ginny was Harry's. Surely it didn't matter what world you were in. "Er… it's very good," he said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Thanks," D put down the charcoal and stared at the drawing. "You know her? Where you come from?"

"We went to school together."

"Where is she now, then? Wait - do I want to know?"

Neville hesitated, then shook his head slowly. The truth was, he didn't know what had happened to Ginny. No one did. No one had seen a body, anyway, which meant she was probably a slave somewhere, but it was impossible to keep track of each other except by word of mouth, and there was so rarely an opportunity to speak to anyone else.

D nodded acceptance, though his eyes were narrowed with sadness. "Your world must be really terrible."

Neville had no argument to this. "Pretty much," he said darkly.

D traced the edge of the drawing with his finger. "I miss her," he said after a long moment. "She kept me sane, you know? She'll be worried sick, too."

"Will she look for you?" Neville asked.

"Don't see how she can," D sighed. "Everything's all over the place at home, at the moment. The New Order just took over from Voldemort, about two months ago now. No one would have time to look for me even if they wanted to."

"Not even your parents?" Neville asked, surprised. He would have liked to think his own parents would have looked for him, if they weren't dead.

D sighed again. "They might," he said. "But they're a big part of the New Order. Some things are more important…"

"Than your own kids?"

D gave him a look that suggested he should already know the answer. "Yes. Anyway my mum and dad lived without me for nearly five years, when I was at the Academy. They can survive another few weeks. It's Ginny I'm worried about. I know I'd be tearing the country apart if she'd gone missing."

Neville opened his mouth to ask another question, but then they both heard, from downstairs, the sound of the front door opening, and voices. D gestured with his head, and they both got up and went to the balcony. There were people standing in the hallway, talking to B. Neville could see Neville A and Hermione amongst them. "Here we go again," D said, grimacing.

"What's happening?" Neville asked nervously.

"They all show up every time a new one of us arrives," D explained. "There are more of them for you than there were for me… oh." He had spotted a redheaded girl coming in behind the rest. "Oh hell."

"She's not _your_ Ginny," Neville said, even though his own heart was pounding in his chest.

"I know _that_," D muttered. "Why did she have to come? It's bad enough…"

"You could ask her for a picture," Neville suggested. "Then you could draw from that."

D glared at him. "Was that a _joke_, E?"

Neville immediately felt guilty. "No. Sorry."

"Right, I forgot, you're allergic to humour."

Neville couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger at that. What was there to laugh about? Before he could protest, however, D was already going down the stairs.


	5. Stories

**Oh god, it's Tuesday already. Time for another chapter of Related Worlds. Depending on how I go next week I might start alternating this one with Still Fighting. Let me know now if that will ruin your life!**

**~*0*~**

C was sticking his head out of his room when Neville reached the second floor. D had already gone way ahead, so Neville waited for him. C did not look at all pleased at their visitors. "Do we really have to do this every time?" he muttered.

"Is it that bad?" Neville asked, nervously.

"It is for me," C said flatly. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "How'd you sleep?"

"People keep asking me that," Neville said absently, walking slowly with him down the stairs.

"Did you dream?"

Neville stopped, halfway down the stairs. "What?" _How the hell did he know?_

C raised an eyebrow. "Yes? I'd like to say you get used to it, but you don't."

"But - hang on -"

They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione was hurrying over to them, cutting off the rest of their conversation. "Oh good, Neville, you're here. How are you? Do you like the house? It'll all right now, but you wouldn't believe what it looked like only a few years ago. How's your back?"

Neville flushed. "Better, thanks."

"Good, good, come on, I want you to meet - "

Neville blinked. Standing in front of him now were people he knew, people who had died years ago. He forced himself to remember that they were not _his _friends, that his friends were dead and gone. Still, it was hard to see Harry's green eyes sparkling behind the familiar spectacles, and Ron's shock of red hair over a full face of freckles, without remembering the pain felt by the whole wizarding world when they had been killed. He had not been there, but Neville had felt their deaths as keenly as if he had been in the room.

"Hi," he said quietly, emotions stinging the corner of his eyes. He was a grown man. He would _not _cry.

"All right mate," said Ron, making a move as if to pound him on the back. Hermione stopped him just in time.

"Ron!"

"Oh, right, sorry."

"It's okay." Neville scratched the back of his head. He could sense the two men staring at the brand on his neck - the T-shirt didn't quite hide it. Made uncomfortable by their stares, he turned to look at the rest of the gathering.

The other people in the hall were only half familiar to him. Ginny, the exception, was being introduced to D, who looked more uncomfortable than Neville had seen him so far. She looked beautiful, he had to admit, her long red hair vibrant and a big smile on her face as D shook her hand. It was hard to imagine her bowing down to slavery, but then, he had never thought that _he_ would, either.

There were a couple of ordinary-looking, shadowy men staying apart from everyone, and a tall dark man he remembered only vaguely from before the war. This man came over to them now, looking very regal in flowing, fiery-red robes.

"Neville, this is Kingsley," Hermione introduced him. "He's our Minister for Magic."

The big man held out a hand, and Neville shook it, nervously.

"Don't look so worried," said A. He had just closed the door. "It'll be over before you know it."

"We're just talking, right?" Neville said, bewildered.

"Were they making it sound like torture? Yes, it's just talking. There was talk of bringing some Pensieves in and doing it that way, but I know I'm against it, and so are the others."

Neville nodded vigorously. Nothing he remembered well enough to go in a Pensieve would be fun for anyone to experience, least of all him.

~*-N-*~

~*-N-*~

"Right," Hermione said when they were all seated in the living room. It was not really designed for a meeting, but someone had conjured some extra chairs from somewhere. The shadowy-looking men, whom Hermione introduced as being members of the Department of Mysteries who had been helping her with the problem of interdimensional travel, looked very awkward perching on the edges of squashy armchairs. Neville, on the other hand, sank gratefully into one corner of the sofa. D, much to his relief, sat next to him, where, Neville noticed, he had a good view of Ginny. She was sitting on the other sofa with one hand on Harry's knee.

"We all know why we're here," Hermione continued. "Now, we're going to do this more or less the same as last time. I know your stories pretty well, except for E, of course, but Ginny and Kingsley haven't heard them from you, so…"

"Should I?" A asked her, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Well… perhaps you better, for E's sake."

"I'll start then. My name is Neville Longbottom, I grew up in Blackpool with my Gran. I did all seven years at Hogwarts but never took my NEWTs because this pesky war broke out and we half destroyed the school before exams. I started to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after the war with Harry and Ron here, and I now have an Auror's badge." He glanced at Hermione. "Detailed enough?"

She sighed. "It'll do for now. If you ever write your autobiography I'd suggest making it a _tad_ longer."

"Whyever would I want to do something like that?"

Harry laughed. Neville flinched. He had almost forgotten the dark-haired man was there. It was unnerving to hear him laugh.

B then took up the thread. "My name is also Neville Longbottom. I grew up in Blackpool with my Gran, as well. I did six years at Hogwarts, but went out in the field during the war with a band of Healers who got me started on Healing."

Neville's eyes widened. "You did? What were -"

"Neville, try not to interrupt," Hermione said patiently. "It's easier if we go through the story first, questions at the end."

Neville shut up, obediently but reluctantly. B continued his story, with a sideways, curious glance at Neville. "After the war I lived in a flat on my own for two years, studying Healing at St. Angia's Wizarding Academy, specialising in destructive medicine and mind healing. I did an internship at the London Wizarding Clinic. I ah… met a girl there." He flushed a little. "Her name is - was - Tracey Davis. A few months later I found out she was pregnant." He took a deep breath. "We were married about six weeks ago, and she gave birth the same day, to twins. We called them Alice, after my mother, and Caden, after Tracey's grandfather. The birth was… really hard on Trace. She had only just got out of the hospital when I woke up here."

Neville stared at B. There was a pain in his voice he had only heard once before, when he had mentioned being married. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to have a sick wife and two newborn children that he couldn't see, couldn't talk to, couldn't even contact to let them know he was all right. No wonder he wanted to go home so much.

"We will get you back," Hermione said softly. "I promise."

B nodded, and swallowed, but did not say anything else.

"Do I have to?" C was muttering now.

"Yes," A growled at him. "Get on with it."

"Oh, for Merlin's - fine, fine, I was just asking." C rolled his fingers through his hair and began. "My name is Neville Lestrange." Neville thought he saw a flicker of distaste across Kingsley's face. Ron looked as though he was sucking a lemon, and Harry was frowning slightly. "I was adopted by Lady Bellatrix Lestrange, ruler of wizarding Britain, as a child. I grew up with my parents in the manor house in London. I went to Hogwarts, _and _did my NEWTs, thank you very much. Some of you I guess were there too, but I never talked much to anyone who wasn't in Slytherin."

Ron made an angry grunting noise, and Hermione shot him a warning look.

"Anyway, after that, my parents couldn't really decide what to do with me. Most people in my parents' circle join the army after they leave school - my mother's army, that is - but they wouldn't let me, even though my cousin Draco is a captain. So they sent me to Russia to learn from this arsehole Karkaroff, who is a _seriously _Dark wizard. I hated it, but when your mother is Queen, you basically have to do what she says. I got back last year and have been basically sitting on my backside for the last few months waiting for an assignment. Happy?"

Kingsley leaned forward in his seat. He apparently was allowed to interrupt. "Queen?" was his question.

"Well not _literally_, I suppose," C sighed. "People call her that, it's like an honorary title. I am called Prince Lestrange. By those who know how to show the proper respect, anyway," he added, shooting D a dirty look. D ignored him, to Neville's surprise. He was too busy staring at Ginny while trying to pretend he wasn't.

"And Rodolphus?" Kingsley enquired. "Is he called King?"

"What? Merlin, no! My mother rules Wizarding Britain. My father is her advisor."

There was a brief pause, then Harry asked, "Do you know why you were adopted?"

C glared at him. "Does there have to be a reason?"

"And you never knew your real parents?"

"No - well, I knew they had to be Purebloods, or my mother would never have taken me in, otherwise. I asked questions when I was younger, I suppose. Mother told me my birth parents had abandoned me -"

"That's a lie," A said, quickly and heatedly. "They would never have done that."

"How do you know?" C shot back. There was a great anger in his expression. "They're not _your _parents, as you've made so abundantly clear on numerous occasions. If my - if the Queen hadn't taken me in, I would have starved or frozen to death. And I think I'm done now," he added quickly, forestalling any more questions. "Isn't it about someone else's turn?"

Neville nudged D, who shook himself slightly. "Hm? Me?"

Neville had to admit that this was the story he wanted to hear the most. "Yes," he said.

"Oh. Right. Okay." There was a momentary silence, as though he was gearing himself. Then he began. "My name is Neville Longbottom. I didn't grow up in Blackpool. I… okay, when I was a baby, this kid Harry Potter was kidnapped and murdered. His parents are friends with my parents. I guess it all fell apart after that, I mean, from what I've learned since being here."

Neville glanced at Harry. He had taken Ginny's hand in his and their fingers were intertwined. His expression was unreadable.

"Voldemort took over. He created the Ruling Classes. Basically to be in them you had to be Pureblood, for at least a few generations, and submit to his rule. Most people did. Some mad people decided to go against it, including my family, the Potters, and the Weasleys." He nodded at Harry, Ron and Ginny.

"Muggleborns and Halfbloods were forced to work for the Ruling Classes, or killed if they tried to resist. The ones who resisted - like my family - they're called the Outsiders. We had to move around a lot when I was growing up, to escape the Ruling Classes and the Death Eater Army - Voldemort's people. We could have left England - it would have been safer - but my parents wanted to stay to try and help keep up the resistance." He sighed. "Then there's the Academy - what used to be Hogwarts. After Voldemort took over he renamed it the Slytherin Academy, and only kids of the Ruling Classes could go there as a student. Everyone else - halfbloods, blood traitors - became servants of the school, kind of like a sick training process. Servants serve the students, clean the castle about fifty times a week, sleep in the dungeons, and eat one meal a day. After five years at the Academy - from age sixteen to twenty one - if you're a servant, you can either pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord and become Ruling Class - if you're Pureblooded enough - or you get sent to a camp."

His face darkened when he mentioned 'camps'. Neville shivered. The story hit a little too close to home.

"People didn't want to send their kids there, of course, but they sent out the army to find us. There was a whole department of the Ministry dedicated to finding us, and they developed this spell that pinpoints magical kids when they turn sixteen. Some were able to escape - most of the Weasleys, for example, though they got Ginny when she was nine."

Across the room, Ginny bit her lip and grasped harder at Harry's hand.

"My sixteenth birthday, they came for me. My parents fought, but there were too many of them, and we got separated. I went to the Academy as a servant. I did four and a half years." He paused again.

"It wasn't fun," he added eventually. "Most of what they teach at the Academy is various ways to hurt people. Umbridge - the Headmistress - she let the teachers use the servants as examples. I lost a good friend that way. Her name was Luna." He swallowed. "I wasn't in classrooms much because I was a personal servant - it's complicated to explain…"

"Try," Hermione encouraged. Neville could see Kingsley and the Department of Mysteries men listening with rapt attention.

"If you're a high up enough servant - or a teacher - you can ask Umbridge for a personal servant," D continued, staring at his knees. "Sometimes they live in the rooms with the student, that's the best, then at least you get to be warm at night. My student… at first, anyway… was Draco Malfoy. He would rather die than let me sleep in his rooms."

C snorted. Neville remembered him mentioning his 'cousin Draco', and felt a headache coming on. All these little connections…

"I knew my parents were out there somewhere. I knew they had gotten away that day, I knew they were alive, and they would come for me. So I tried to make myself ready. They took our wands, of course, but I started trying to learn wandless magic. I stole a book from a teacher's office - almost got executed in the process, by the way - and tried to teach myself, levitating candles, unlocking doors, that sort of thing. But nothing ever really worked, not to the point where it could help me escape. And then… I got… reassigned."

He clenched his hand into the fabric of his jeans, as though this part were especially difficult. "A teacher," he said slowly. "His name was Evan Rosier."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "I knew Rosier," he said. "A particularly vicious Death Eater. He died here, years ago."

"Good," D said intensely. "Anyway Umbridge was particularly pissed at me for some reason - I forget why - and she basically gave him permission to do whatever he wanted." His face had gone very pale, with tinges of red in the cheeks. "It was two months. I almost died. But some of the things he did to me… I got so angry that the magic just burst out of me, like a child. I even threw him across the room once or twice. Rosier thought it was funny, but after Umbridge called him off I found out I could do things… I couldn't, before. In particular I could start fires, easily. Sometimes a bit too easily.

"Then, after Rosier packed up and went to India on a mission for Voldemort, the Carrows started taking an interest in me." He took a deep breath. "It was weird. They hadn't cared about me kept inviting me to their offices, and… I forget exactly…" he frowned. "Amycus Carrow gave me an amulet that belonged to my father," he said, reaching under his shirt and showing a brass chain. "I thought it meant that Carrow had killed him, but…" He grimaced in frustration. "They must have obliviated me a few times because it's all a blur," he said apologetically. "I must have figured it out more than once. I remember the Cruciatus Curse, and so does Ginny, they were interested in _her _too. But they never actually tortured us. They just modified our memories."

"Why?" Neville asked breathlessly.

"Because they weren't really the Carrows," D sighed. "It was my parents."

"_What?_" Neville, Kingsley, and Ginny were the only ones surprised by this, everyone else having heard it before, but Neville was on the edge of his seat. "Your parents?"

"Using Polyjuice Potion. It was stupid. They're both good, but after a while it started getting obvious that not as many people were getting tortured in their classes as usual."

"Not as many?" Ginny asked breathlessly.

D looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time. "They had to hurt _some _people," he said darkly. "They couldn't modify _everyone's _memories."

Ginny stared at him. "That's horrible."

"How do you think I feel? They said later they had to get information on the school, but there were other people who could have done that. It's obvious they volunteered so they could see me." He sighed again. "Anyway, it got too dangerous and they had to leave. The Death Eaters found the real Carrows locked up in their own house, and when they got back, they were _pissed_." He winced and rubbed at his forearm. Neville could see thick scars there, like someone had carved at him with a blunt instrument. "Not long after that the castle was attacked. The Outsiders had carried out a plan to kill Voldemort and take over the Ministry, and take the school in one night. They had back up from France, Germany, all over, even the Muggle army. Turns out the rest of the world - wizard and Muggle - was getting tired of having a madman ruling all of Britain."

There was a long silence. "What happened to the school?" Neville asked.

"It got destroyed," D said shortly. "I told you."

"You said it got burned up."

"So?"

B was frowning. "D… you never mentioned a fire, before."

D grimaced.

"If you left anything out, we need to know," Hermione said gently.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" C said. "He lost it and set fire to the castle."

"Shut up," D growled. "That's not - I didn't -"

"What _did _happen then?" Neville asked eagerly.

D glared at him, as though it were his fault, which Neville supposed it was. But he hadn't realised it was a secret. "Rosier came back," he said eventually. "When he heard about the fighting. Ginny and I were trying to help the servants get out, but then I lost her. I… I went looking for her, and Rosier got me. He was going to trade me to my parents for his life, but Ginny saw us and he got her, too. He said he was going to hurt her… like he hurt me. Worse. Unless I helped him get out. But my dad found out what Rosier did to me, when he was Amycus Carrow. No way he would ever let him leave alive."

He stared down at his hands. "I killed him. Rosier. With fire. It just came out of me, and he died right there in front of us, screaming."

Another long silence. "And the castle?" Harry asked, low.

"I didn't know how to stop it. The fire just spread everywhere. No one else got killed, but me and Gin got burnt pretty bad. She didn't tell anyone it was me. No one knows, except my dad. He's been trying to help, but ever since…" He flexed his hand, and flames flickered momentarily around his fingers. "It helped when Ginny was around. She… kept me grounded. But now, it's just getting worse. That's why _I _have to get home."


	6. This is Your Life

There was a long silence, until Neville realised everyone was now looking at him, expectantly. This was the part he had dreaded. He had never told his own story, not in full, and not to total strangers, such as some of them were.

"It's all right," Hermione said, pointlessly. "Start with your name, and where you're from."

"I… my name…" Neville swallowed, hard. He could do this. He had been tortured to within an inch of his life. He had been branded and served for years. He had done things he would rather never recall even to himself, things he had to do to survive. This was just another one of them. "My name is Neville Longbottom," he began. "I… grew up in Blackpool, with my Gran, like A and B." He nodded to them. "I went to Hogwarts… did my NEWTs but I never got to use 'em. There was this war, and… we joined up, most of us. Well, I tried to, but I wasn't no Auror. I was supposed to be carrying messages, bringing spare wands, that sort of thing, but I got hit. Ended up in a Healer's tent for a week. I picked up a few things and ended up staying there. They didn't mind… at least no one said they didn't.

"There were two Healers especially. My friends… one was called Tiffany, just out of the Academy. The other was Horace. He was much older." He took another breath to steady his nerves. Once he had started, it was easier to continue.

"They taught me some Healing, just simple spells. It was hard work, but I was better at it than dodging curses. A few months in we got called to a battle outside the city. They thought they were winning, that it would be safe for us. But it all changed, quickly, too quickly. I got hit." He flushed. A good deal of this story seemed to involve him getting injured, and it wasn't going to get any better.

"When I came to we were in this big stone cell. Not just us, lots of others, men, women, children. We heard the Death Eaters talking about us like we weren't even human, like we were animals to be sold. But I thought, the war will be over soon, and someone will rescue us. The Order… Harry. Someone. But no one did." He stared at his knees, unseeing. He could hear the wailing of infants in that cell, smell the reek of blood and waste and fear.

"When they came for us we knew the war was over, but not the way we wanted. They jeered it at us - 'Potter's dead, your precious Order's in ruins, the Dark Lord owns you now.'

"They took us all out, lined us up. Gave us this mark." He pulled his shirt aside so they could see the symbol. "The cuffs came a little later." He chafed his own, but as usual it did not move, stuck fast to the skin as it had been for years. "They gave us numbers. Mine is - was - 001 017. One is for the month, and every month they add a new number. Seventeen because I was the seventeenth in the line. Horace was just before me, and Tiffany after. Horace didn't even make a sound when they put the brand to him. He was the toughest old man I ever met. Tiff screamed… I tried to help her but some big coward with a whip lashed me back in line."

He sighed. "Then they carted us all off to this market. The first one was small, but there are plenty more nowadays, and bigger. They brought others, from all over, but that was the first market, in the north, near the border. I'm still not sure exactly where. They separated the men from the women and stuck us in barred cells. Horace was with me, but… he said he could help me. I was bleeding still, from the whip, and he used magic to stop it. He didn't let Tiff use wandless magic all the time we were in the dark, but as soon as we got out he used it to heal me. The next morning he was dead." He said it quickly, flatly, as though that would make it less true. "I called for help but they just took the body away. I never even knew he was dying, but he must have been. He used his last shred of life force to heal me."

He looked up. Hermione was listening with rapt attention, though she had turned very still and pale. Ginny was sitting with the tips of her fingers over her mouth. Everyone else just looked very grim. He looked back down at his knees. He found it was easier when he didn't have to look at anyone.

"The first time someone bought me it was for a labour force somewhere. I think his name was Davor, Davos… something like that. He bought a dozen of us, mostly big guys who could lift things. Me and this kid Dillon were the only skinny ones, and he had us up on the walls putting mortar on brick, that sort of thing. It wasn't too bad. We got fed, and washed. Nowadays… I mean, last week, I would have given anything to be back there. Dillon was a good kid. We used to talk about what we would do when we escaped. Where we would go, how we would find people to help us take down You-Know-Who once and for all. Then one day… he fell. It was so high, up on those walls… but he was a good climber, I thought if anyone was going to fall it would be me. When I got down to him he was still alive, but no one would help. They dragged him away, screaming, and I tried… I tried to help him…" he clenched his fists. "They beat me. I was black and blue and red all over when they sold me back to the market. No one would even look at me for a long time. I thought they would kill me - they do that sometimes with slaves that won't sell, even in those days. But I thought about Dillon and Horace and I got better. I _refused _to die.

"I got sold again, to some old woman who wanted a manservant. That time I ran away. I got pretty far, actually, but they had these cuffs by then and they all have tracking spells on them. They sent the ratcatchers after me but the old woman already had a new slave, so they sold me back, and so on and so on… I must have had, twenty maybe thirty masters and mistresses. They all wanted different things. Cleaning, mostly, since House Elves are so rare and slaves are cheaper than servants. But there were… other duties." He was going to say more, but decided against it. He had agreed to tell the story but there were some things he could _not _say in front of Hermione or Ginny. Let the draw their own inferences.

"I saw Tiffany one more time," he said. He didn't want to tell this part either, but they _had _asked. "I found her in a market between sales. They tossed her in with us like she was nothing, and it took me a minute to even recognise her. She was pregnant." He swallowed. "At least, she had been. She said her master had sold her when she couldn't move fast enough any more to be _amusing_. The slavers took her baby from her when it came. And then she died, right there in front of me."

Silence. He had their attention now, if nothing else.

"I learned how to behave, how to say the right courtesies, how to survive. Not all of them were evil. One or two of them even talked to me. That's how I found out about Harry and Ron… how they died. And some of my other friends. Every now and then there'd be a ball and I'd meet other servants, and we'd try to find out who was still alive.

"Then this rumour started going round. They said there was a group of rebels in London, trying to gather members of the Order, what was left, trying to free the slaves and gather a new army. They said they were getting help from other countries where You-Know-Who had less power. I thought, I had to help them. So the next time I was sold I made a big noise about how much city people would pay for me, with my training. I had been a slave for so long, one of the very first, and there aren't many of us left. It worked, and I got sold to the market in Diagon Alley. They had a good trade going by then. This was about six weeks ago.

"Then she came." He spat the word _she _like it tasted revolting on his tongue. "Lestrange, and her sister. I knew who they were, just from what they said as they walked past the cages. I tried to turn away, so they wouldn't see me, but Lestrange knew me straight away."

He didn't dare look at C, especially when he could hear the man's laboured breathing. It probably pained him a lot to hear such things about his mother. Neville found he didn't much care.

"Her sister, Narcissa, she was buying her a slave as a present since the old one died. She paid the gold but it was Lestrange's name on my wrist and her dungeon I went home to."

"But it says Malfoy," Hermione said suddenly, startling them all with her interruption. "It says Narcissa Malfoy on your… on the cuff." So she _had _noticed.

"I'm Malfoy's now. She came to get me after Lestrange went on holiday or something and forgot to feed me. She took me to her house, fed me, dressed me, took care of the paperwork and all that implies." He traced the join of the cuff where it met the skin of his arm. "She wasn't kind, exactly, but it was better than bleeding for Lestrange's pleasure. She used to heal me magically after having her fun, just so she could start again with a clean slate."

C made a sort of moaning noise, very soft. Neville thought he might have been the only one to hear.

"That's not the worst of it," Neville sighed. "After I'd been at Malfoys' for a few days, I met Draco Malfoy's own slave. I was looking for a bucket and I went all the way down to the cells they have down there. Every big pureblood house seems to have the need for a few cells. I thought they were empty, and then… she called me. By name. She knew me. I didn't recognise her at first. Her hair was all cut and she was wearing… well, almost nothing…"

"Who was it?" Ron asked, darkly, dangerously.

Neville looked up and stared resolutely at a spot on the far wall, unable to quite meet anyone's eyes. "Hermione."

He heard the girl gasp, but to her credit, it was only very quietly. There was stunned silence.

"Draco Malfoy?" Ron hissed, after a moment.

Neville nodded sadly. "She must have been down there for years. I thought she was dead. I asked the House Elves and they said Malfoy went down there almost every night - "

"Oh _don't!" _Ginny looked as though she might be sick. He turned his eyes on her, gravely.

"That's the world I live in," he said, hollowly. "You did say you wanted to know."

"We did," Hermione said, gathering herself. "Please… carry on."

"Well… that's it, really," Neville said, shrugging. "Only, Lestrange came back, not long after. She wasn't none too pleased that Malfoy took me off her, only I would have died if she hadn't, so she couldn't complain too much. Malfoy let her visit." He grimaced. "Only she didn't bother healing me this time. And then I came here, and you know what happened after."

He looked around at them expectantly. "So what happens now?"


	7. The Catalyst

It turned out that what happened next was a long discussion on magical theory that Neville did not even begin to understand, to the point where he started to wonder if he really needed to be there for it. Never mind that he didn't know anything at all about connected alter-dimensions or the tears in sub-reality, he hadn't even read a book in years, and he had never been particularly clever to begin with; something Malfoy - the younger, ferrety version - never missed an opportunity to remind him in his own reality.

If anyone noticed that he didn't contribute to the conversation, they didn't say anything. The other versions of himself said very little, at least, so he wasn't the only one. Hermione seemed a little shaken after Neville's story, but she spoke to the men from the Department of Mysteries about their progress in determining the directional space between the related worlds until nearly everyone looked thoroughly confused.

"So what you're saying is, we're no closer than we were a month ago," B finally interrupted. The expression on his face was dour.

"Not necessarily," Hermione countered, unconvincingly. "We have succeeded in locating the world nine - "

"Right, the one where we're dead," C sniffed. "Lot of good that does."

"The worlds usually go in reverse," Hermione continued, ignoring him, "which means the next world should be the eighth. We just need to determine whether any of you are _from _world eight, and if so, how to create a door between the realities."

"Unless it's my world," Neville put in quickly. He thought he better remind them that he most certainly _didn't _want to go back home.

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Later, when everyone had gone home except for Neville A, who had agreed to stay and have lunch with his four avatars, D made it clear that he was just as unhappy with this measure of 'progress' as the others were. "What if world eight _isn't _one of our worlds?" he demanded. "And I bet it isn't. Herminy - "

"Hermione," A corrected.

"Right - well she reckons this world is world _one, _right? Because it all started here. Then I bet B's world is two, and C's is three, and mine is four, and so on. So we'd have to find eight, seven, six _and _five before we even get to my world."

Neville blinked. He hadn't understood any of that.

"I've been free for… oh, six weeks now and I've spend half that time stuck _here_," D growled with frustration, stabbing his fish and chips with his fork. They all jumped as a pile of coals sparked behind the grate of the fireplace.

"Calm down," C snapped. "Unless you want to burn up the whole house."

D sighed. "I told you, it was an _accident_. Anyway it's not my fault they never fixed the fireproofing charms on the stupid castle anyway."

"We weren't blaming you," B said gently.

"Yeah we were," C muttered.

Neville chewed his fish thoughtfully. It was very good. All the food they ate here was delicious, and they ate it _all the time_. It was hard to get used to. "Six weeks?" he repeated, cutting through the start of what had seemed to be a very promising row. They all turned and stared at him.

"Yeah, so?" D replied, frowning.

"Just wondering." Something was stirring at the back of his mind, but he wasn't quite sure where he was going with it. He turned to look at B. "Didn't you say you got married about six weeks ago?"

B looked confused. "I suppose so - and the twins were born the same day… yeah. They'd be six weeks old now. What's your point?"

"Well, I was just thinking…" Neville tried to wrap his brain around his thoughts. Thinking about anything beyond survival was something else he was only just starting to experiment with. Where he came from, thinking too much usually led to horror and despair getting the best of you. But there didn't seem to be any harm in this line of thought. "That's a pretty important thing, getting married. And having children. And so's freeing all the slaves at Hogwarts."

"The Academy," D corrected, absently.

"I was just thinking… it was about that long ago when I… when Lestrange bought me, in London. I think so, anyway. And that was important. For me. I mean it changed everything."

They all looked at each other. B sat back in his seat. "So you're suggesting that something significant might have happened to each of us at about the same time? And that might have something to do with why we're here?"

"Well that's very interesting," D put in. "But it doesn't quite work unless it applies to these guys as well." He motioned with a hand towards A and C, one at a time. "So? Anything big happen about six weeks ago? Either of you get married recently and didn't tell us?"

They were surprised to see A turn suddenly bright red. "Er…"

"You _didn't!" _B exclaimed, thoroughly surprised.

"No…" A murmured. "No, I'm not married. But I did, sort of… well…" He trailed off into embarrassment.

"I think this has something to do with the girlfriend he won't tell us about," D said. "Did you propose? Did you find out she had an extra arm, or a family curse, or something?"

Neville had a sinking feeling that something horrible might have happened, by the look on A's face, and he could imagine a lot of horrible things. He grimaced. "You don't have to tell us," he said quickly.

"Yes he does," D insisted. "If he wants to get all this sorted out, he does. Bet he doesn't much like us crowding up his reality, right, Neville?"

A glared. "Oh, fine," he muttered. "If you all really _must _know… it was the first time that we… that we… you know."

They all gaped at him. "Seriously?" D said.

"Seriously," A replied, red right to the tips of his ears. "And I'd thank you to all forget I told you, now that I have."

D laughed. "Great. So B had two kids pop out six weeks ago, and you had sex for the first time -"

"_Don't -" _

"What about you then, C?" D asked, turning to the last member of their little company. C, Neville realised, had been silent as the grave ever since the subject had been raised. In an almost polar opposite to A's reaction, he had gone quite pale.

"Nothing," he said after a while, when they had all watched him squirm under their inquisitive gazes until he could no longer stand it. "Nothing happened."

"That's less than convincing," A said, frowning. "Want to pull another one?"

C shook his head. He looked over at Neville, with slightly wide eyes. Neville suddenly remembered the moaning noise the other man had made when he had told about Lestrange torturing him. But he must have _known _his mother tortured people, even if he claimed never to have done it himself. Still, he was looking at Neville with an expression he could almost recognise as one of his own. Shame, with a hint of fear.

"You have to tell us if you want to go home," Neville said, as politely as he could manage.

There was a pause, and then C pushed his plate away and stood up. "I'll find my own way home," he said, stomping away from the table. D made to get up and stop him - how, Neville wasn't quite sure, since C was arguably the strongest, physically, out of all of them - but B put out a hand.

"Let him go."

"But -"

"Let him go, mate. He's not going to tell us anything he doesn't want to."

C didn't come out of his room for the rest of the day. A went home after lunch, promising to tell Hermione about E's theory as soon as he got a chance, and the rest of them went back to what passed for a routine at Grimmauld Place - D to his own room, B to the library where he seemed to spend most of his time doing research. Neville wandered around the big house, peeking behind pictures and tapestries to see if he could find any secret passages. He had already found two at Malfoy Manor, though they had made his cuff burn uncomfortably when he tried to go too far down them, and he had come straight back. Narcissa had made all kinds of threats of what would happen if he tried to leave the Manor, and he didn't intend to provoke her into trying them out.

There didn't seem to be any passages at Grimmauld Place, though he found a few spots behind certain tapestries where something else had clearly been for a long time, and something magical, by the way the whitewash that covered every wall in the house wouldn't stick to those areas. Old portraits, he guessed. They had had one at his Gran's house of an ancient relative that had a serious sticking charm on it. Said relative - Neville couldn't remember his name now - had slept most of the time, so no one had really minded. Nearly all the portraits he had encountered in Pureblood houses since the end of the war had been thoroughly unpleasant, much like their descendants, but there didn't seem to be any magical portraits at Number Twelve at all, for all it was clearly a very old house.

B eventually found him to tell him it was time for dinner. A had come back to join them, assuring them that Hermione had promised to look into the theory. When asked why he hadn't waited until the next day to tell them this, he replied grudgingly that his grandmother was visiting and had effectively taken over his flat. This was apparently such a problem - though privately Neville thought that he might have given anything to see his Gran again - that he accepted B's offer of staying the night at Number 12. C did not make an appearance at all.

_He was lying on a bed. A big, comfortable bed, and it was his. It wasn't strange to him, it was simply his bed, and always had been, ever since he could remember. The room was his as well, despite the Slytherin banner that decorated half the east wall. There was a big window that looked out onto the grounds. He always liked that window. When he was little, he had loved to watch the moon rise as he fell asleep, and on full moons, to listen to the howl of the werewolves that guarded the boundary to the manor. _

_He wasn't little anymore though. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling. It was weird being home, still. He'd been away for nearly a year, and it wasn't as easy as he had thought to settle back into his old life, even months later. He kept having uncomfortable dreams, about Karkaroff, and Russia, and all the things he'd seen there. In the day, he could pretend that things were still the same, but at night, it was harder to hide. More than once he had woken up in a cold sweat, with a House Elf or two begging to know if he was all right and if he needed anything. Apparently he'd been screaming. He had to threaten them into not telling his mother. He didn't want to know what her reaction would be. _

_Someone knocked on the door. He ignored it, hoping they would go away. _

_"Lestrange, get out here right now." _

_He rolled his eyes and sat up. "What's the matter now, cuz?" _

_Draco opened the door and came in, grey eyes glinting. "What on earth is wrong with you? You were meant to join us for training this morning. What am I meant to tell the Queen?" _

_Neville grimaced. "Shit. I forgot." _

_"Clearly. If you want to train for the Army - " _

_Neville grimaced. "I don't want to train for the Army, Draco. Mother doesn't even want me training for the Army. She just wants to give me something to do so I stay out of the way." _

_"That's Captain Malfoy to you," Draco snapped. _

_Neville sniggered. "I am _not _calling you Captain," he said, waving his hand. "Unless you want to start calling me Prince Lestrange…" _

_"I'm your cousin. I don't have to address you - " _

_"Then neither do I." Neville stood up and stretched. "Want to go out for a bit?" _

_Draco looked nonplussed. "What?" _

_"Go for a walk… go to a pub… I'll even go flying with you." This was a big offer. Neville usually hated broomsticks. "Just get me out of this house for a while." _

_"You should really ask your mother about that." _

_Neville's face twisted into a snarl. "I don't need her permission to leave the house - I'm a fucking adult, Draco -" _

_"You should at least have a guard with you -" _

_"You're a Captain of the Army!" _

_"And the Queen would have my head - quite literally - if anything ill were to befall you," Draco pointed out, inclining his head slightly. Neville stared. He expected that sort of behaviour from most people - he was, after all, their Prince - but Draco was family. _

_"You've changed," he accused. "We used to do dangerous things all the time - remember when we climbed the big oak?" _

_Draco's mouth twitched. "We were six, Neville. And you fell and broke your arm and Father thrashed me. Happy memories, indeed." _

_Neville frowned. He had forgotten that Draco had been punished for that incident. "Oh fine," he snapped. "I'll ask mother for a guard." _

_"Tomorrow," Draco said. "I have more training this afternoon. Are you coming?" _

_Neville shrugged. Bored as he was, he really didn't want to spend his day casting curses at people who - by royal decree and on pain of death - could not fight back. "Nah." He noted the expression of consternation on his cousin's face. "I'll tell Mother. Don't worry about it." _

_A few hours later, he was regretting his decision. There really was nothing to do in this stupid house. He considered going to Malfoy Manor. Cassie was home for the holidays and she liked when he visited. Draco's sister was in her final year at Hogwarts and - unlike her older brother - was actually fun to be around, a lot more so than when she was little and a permanent nuisance. And there was the added bonus that she was bidding fair to be even more beautiful than her mother. But of course he couldn't tell Draco that. Anyway there was always the chance he might bump into his Uncle Lucius, and that was never a fun time. The man was never quite disrespectful, but Neville always got the impression from him that he didn't quite consider the young Prince a 'real' member of the family. Sometimes Neville wondered if he should have his Uncle seriously demoted when he was King. But then Draco probably wouldn't like that much, so maybe not. _

_He got up and wandered aimlessly around the castle for a bit. Aside from the Army recruits training with Draco in the big ballroom, it was empty. His mother and father were both out on state business - he hadn't asked what. Every now and then a House Elf popped up to ask snivellingly if he needed anything. After the fifth time it happened, he considered giving the latest one a hotfoot, but it vanished before he could reach his wand. _

_After a while he found himself at the entrance to the dungeons; empty these days, but he knew they had once held several war prisoners. He hesitated. He hadn't been down here in a long time, now that he thought about it. He'd avoided the place ever since he was eight years old and he'd accidentally walked in on his mother disembowelling a man. He'd had nightmares for weeks, until his mother had convinced him that the man was a traitor who had been trying to hurt their family, and he deserved everything he got. His mother had been nicer back then, he thought, cautiously opening the door that led to the elaborate maze of cells. These days she barely spoke to him except to remind him of his duties as Heir. She never actually went into detail about what those duties might be, however. _

_Yet another infernal House Elf appeared as he passed the first empty cell. "Your Highness!" it squeaked. "Master Lestrange - Master is in the dungeons!" _

_"Well spotted," Neville muttered. "Bugger off, will you?" _

_The little creature tugged at its ears, its scrunched-up face twisted with contrition. "Master, Giddy is so sorry Master, but My Lady Queen Majesty has said Master Prince Lestrange should not come to the dungeons alone!" _

_"Why not?" Neville frowned. "It's all empty down here." _

_The House Elf let out a low whine. "Please come upstairs, Master Prince Lestrange," it begged, so wretched that Neville couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for it. He had been practically raised by House Elves, and while some of them were annoying, and he had enjoyed a few pranks on them over the years, usually with Draco in tow, he had never liked the way they constantly punished themselves. Still, he wasn't going to let this one stop him going wherever he wanted to go in his own house. _

_"I'm just going to have a look around," he said. "Mother won't mind. I bet she made up that rule years ago, and it doesn't count anymore." _

_The House Elf still did not look happy. It moaned and made to start bashing its head against the wall, torn between its obligation to Neville, who was standing right there in front of it, and its loyalty to the Queen, its true Mistress._

_"Tell you what," Neville said, with as much patience as he could manage. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you can come find me and I'll come straight out, I promise. In the meantime, how about you go make me a sandwich? No - a cake. Chocolate. With strawberry icing. And lots of decoration." _

_The Elf stopped hitting itself and looked dazed. "Giddy will do as Master says!" it squeaked, and vanished. Neville grinned. Once you'd lived with the creatures for a while, you started to get the hang of distracting them. _

_After a few minutes of wandering through the empty cells, however, he started to wonder what had possessed him to come down here in the first place. It was dark, and damp, and thoroughly depressing. He was just about to give up and go back, well ahead of his twenty-minute deadline, when he felt something odd in the air to his left. He turned back towards a blank stone wall. He couldn't see anything else, but his training in Russia had taught him to recognise wards when he felt them. This one was not particularly strong. Any decent cursebreaker should be able to crack it. _

_He hesitated for a moment. If his mother had put up a ward in the dungeons, he could only guess there would be something thoroughly unpleasant behind it. It probably wasn't a good idea to let it out. On the other hand, this was a _dungeon_, after all, one measly ward couldn't be all there was to it. And it could just be an old ward, left over from the days when the cells were in regular use. Couldn't it? _

_He made up his mind in that instant, pulled out his wand, and performed five or six countercurses until he found the one that caused the ward to shimmer and go out. The stone wall vanished. "Lumos," he said, allowing his wand to illuminate the dark end of the corridor revealed by the breaking of the ward. There was a single cell at the end, looking just as empty as the others. A little disappointed by this anti-climax, Neville sauntered up to the bars. There were heavy charms on them. He lifted his wand a little to see inside, and almost jumped out of his skin when he realised there _was _something - or someone - in there. A hunched figure was crouched in a corner, as still as a statue, covered in what seemed to be an old cloak. There was a plate of half-eaten bread and a bowl of water beside it. He wondered if whoever it was had died ages ago and it was just a skeleton. The thought made him shudder inwardly, though it wasn't as if he hadn't seen dead bodies before in much worse condition than bones. The next breath he took made him think otherwise, however. Something was definitely living down here - living in its own filth, apparently. _

_Throwing all caution to the winds, he rapped on the bars with the butt of his wand. "You alive in there?" he called out. _

_It took a few seconds, and another rap on the bars, but the figure eventually moved, painfully slowly, the cloak falling aside to reveal a gaunt face, made even more hideous by the low wand light that left dark shadows in the pits of its eyes and the hollows of its cheeks. It had long, grey hair and a tangled mess of a beard that disappeared beneath the cloak. Neville had half a mind to leave without any further investigation, but the curiosity was burning. "How long have you been here?" he asked, at the back of his mind adding, _Mother is _not _going to be happy about this.

_Another few seconds, then a hoarse, choking voice replied, "what… what year is it?" _

_Neville told him. There was another silence. Then the thing breathed out, a low, hoarse, death rattle of a breath that made Neville's spine tingle. "Twenty years," it said, barely audible even in the otherwise total silence of the dungeon. "Twenty… twenty years." It looked up at him, its terrible eyes meeting his for the first time. It was almost shocking to see that it was really just a man. The eyes were quite human. They were even - and Neville wasn't sure how he knew, but he was quite sure he could tell the difference - sane. The man crawled forward a metre or so, nearly knocking over the water bowl, and Neville had to resist the urge to take a step back. "Who are you?" it demanded._

_Neville didn't know why he answered. He knew he should leave, now. This was clearly an old war prisoner, one his mother had deemed too important to kill, but dangerous enough to be kept down here ever since she had taken power, behind spelled bars and wards. "Prince Lestrange," he said, and then, for some reason he couldn't explain to himself, he added, "Neville." _

_The man made a choking noise that could have been fear, or anger, or anything. He reached out through the bars, and Neville did step back then, turning up his nose at the stink and the wasted remains of the man's arm, chalk-pale and skeletal. He turned to leave, but the man called out to him. _

_"No! Don't leave, please… Neville…" He looked back. The man was gesturing through the bars, reaching for him desperately. "You don't know me," the old creature said. "How could you… please… come closer, let me see you." _

_Neville took a half step forward, holding his lit wand aloft, but still well out of the reach of that wasted hand. "Who are you?" he asked. _

_The man flinched, a kind of shuddering spasm of the body. He drew the hand back and closed the stick-like fingers around one of the bars. _

_"I told you my name," Neville pointed out. "It's only fair. Unless you don't remember." He'd seen that happen sometimes, especially in Russia - Karkaroff's prisoners tended to lose their minds after years, sometimes even months, driven mad by the hunger and the isolation and the pain. Twenty years was more than enough time. _

_"No, I remember." The man stared up at him, the eyes, dark and terrible, transfixed on Neville's. "My name was… is… Frank," he said, his hoarse voice echoing eerily around the chamber. "Neville… I'm your father." _

Neville E woke as if someone had hit him with a stinging hex. His sheets were drenched with sweat. He was back in his own bed, at Grimmauld Place, and he was himself again. The dream, like the one of the previous night, stood out in stark clarity in his mind, quite unlike the way dreams were supposed to, but this one had not been a memory of his past. It was someone else's memory, though, and he had a pretty clear idea who it was.

It was the middle of the night, but he scrambled out of bed and made his way downstairs to C's room. He had to knock several times before C finally opened the door, looking furious. "What the hell do you think you're -" he began, but Neville interrupted him.

"I know what happened," he said. C tried to close the door on him, but he stuffed his foot quickly between the door and the jamb. The result was quite a lot of pain in his foot, but he ignored it. "I dreamed it," he added, shoving his way into the room. "I saw you - and him - in the cells…" The thought of the cells was enough to make him shiver. Even in his own reality, he had been more than well acquainted with the cells of Lestrange Manor.

C had gone quite pale. "You… you dreamed it? How?"

"You were the one who asked me about dreams," Neville pointed out.

C swallowed. "Everyone gets vivid dreams here," he said. "But about themselves, not about…"

"It was real though, wasn't it," Neville said, more certain of this fact than ever. "You found Dad in the dungeons. He'd been there the whole time, and Les - your mother -" he corrected himself for the sake of the argument - "never told you."

C shut the door hurriedly. "Shut up," he snarled. "You want everyone to know? D would rip my head off if he knew, the little savage…"

"But what did you do?" Neville had to know. The dream had ended before he could see what happened next. "Did you let him out?"

C's eyes widened with shock. "Let him out? Why would I do that?"

Neville stared back, incredulously. "Because he's… because he's your dad!"

"I don't know that for sure," C snapped. "He could be lying - he could be anyone. And even if it is true… well, my mother always said that my real parents abandoned me. Why should I have anything to do with him?"

"They didn't abandon you!" Neville almost shouted. He couldn't believe his other self was so dense. "Lestrange attacked them, just like she did mine, and A's, and B's - except instead of driving them mad, she captured your dad and locked him up! She didn't take you in out of _kindness_, she kidnapped you!"

There was silence for a minute. "No," C said eventually. "That makes no sense - why would she?"

"I don't know," Neville sighed. He was about to ask if Frank had said anything about his - that is, C's - mother, but suddenly an animal howl erupted from somewhere above them. They both looked up, startled. "What was _that?" _Neville gasped.

"Werewolf," C said darkly, without hesitation. Neville didn't have to ask how he knew.

"In the house?" he squeaked. "_How?" _

"Never mind how. Let's get out of here."

Neville glanced at the solid-looking door. "Maybe we should stay," he suggested. It seemed safer.

"Werewolves can smell people," C said. He seemed remarkably calm, Neville thought, trying to ignore his own stomach which seemed to have turned to jelly. "It'll find us. That door won't stop it. Come on."

Reluctantly, Neville followed him out of the room and onto the landing, where B was coming up the stairs from his room on the second floor, wand firmly in hand, though said hand was shaking slightly.

"Say, this might be a good time to give me my wand back," C muttered as they drew near. Another howl echoed from above, coupled with the shrieking sound of claws raking through wood. It sounded like it was on the next floor.

"I don't have it," B hissed. "How the fuck did it get in? There are all kinds of wards - "

"Give me yours then."

"Are you mad?"

C glowered at him. "Look, how many times have you fought a werewolf? My mother practically keeps them as pets - I know how to deal with them."

"I'd give it to him if I were you," Neville put in. "I dunno about you, but I didn't escape the Malfoys just to get eaten by a werewolf."

B hesitated a moment longer, then, with the utmost reluctance, handed his wand over. C twirled it between his fingers before gripping the shaft firmly, his features settling into a grim smile. "Right," he said. "Let's go on a wolf hunt."

When they got up to the next floor, the only thing that stopped Neville turning and running back up the stairs again was B's solid presence over his shoulder. An enormous, hairy, fanged monster was attacking one of the doors at the far end of the corridor, ripping off strips of timber with its claws and tearing out chunks with its teeth. It was so intent on the destruction that it didn't seem to notice the three Nevilles as they carefully ascended the stairs at the other end. With a horrible jolt, Neville realised the door it was attacking was the room where A was staying for the night. D's room was halfway down the corridor, so he was also trapped, unless he chanced to risk running past the creature.

"No sudden movements," C whispered. Neville didn't think he could have moved a muscle even if he wanted to. C started inching forward along the corridor. The creature had its back turned to them, but surely any moment it would turn around, or it would smell or hear them, and if it didn't, it would surely break through the door, and then who knew if A would know how to defend himself from a _werewolf_…

"Incendio!" C yelled suddenly, and the red-hot spell hit the thing in the flanks. It howled in pain and whirled on them, thick saliva dripping over its black lips onto the hall carpet, its claws gouging huge furrows in the floorboards beneath. C cast the curse again, and it hit the ground just in front of the creature, causing it to scramble back awkwardly as a small fire sprang up between its paws. "Get him out," C yelled over his shoulder, motioning to D's blackened door. To his shame, Neville still couldn't bring himself to move, but B hurried forward and pulled the door open, bringing D out seconds later with a look of utter terror on his face. C was backing up towards them, still casting fire at the thing every time it tried to leap forward, keeping it backed against the door it had been mauling. "Let's go!" C shouted.

"What about A?" B yelled back over the creature's anguished growls. "He's in that room!"

C looked genuinely surprised, and then angry. "Well why didn't you tell me?" He took a half step back and lowered his wand, and in that second the werewolf bounded forward, jaws agape. Neville opened his mouth to scream with horror, but C raised his wand again with an easy calmness that reminded him eerily of Bellatrix Lestrange, and cast fire at the thing's left forelimb. It howled and twisted in the air as C aimed another curse at it, forcing it back and left until it came up against the open doorway to D's room. The curses forced it even further back, and C's next spell slammed the door and locked it with a heavy thud. Immediately they could hear the thing start to shred the door from the inside.

"Oi, Neville!" D yelled. "Come out now!"

A came out, grimacing when he saw the state of his door. "Where is it? _What _is it? How the fuck did it get in?"

"That's what I said," B replied.

"And why is _he _the only one of you holding a wand?" A demanded, pointing his own wand at C, who glowered.

"You're so welcome," he sneered, with a mocking little bow.

"Don't start fighting now!" Neville called from his safe spot by the bannister. "What do we do?"

C pointed towards the hall window. "Don't have to do anything," he said triumphantly. "Sun's rising."

In the distance, an orange glow was starting to illuminate the dusky grey sky as the day began. It took Neville a few moments to realise what that meant. "Oh," he said stupidly, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down enough for his brain to start working again. Behind them, the growling and wood-tearing gradually faded away.

B ran a hand through his hair, colour returning to his cheeks. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "What the hell is going on? Is it Lupin?"

A shook his head. "He died years ago."

"Greyback?"

"Also dead. Killed him myself."

There was a very pregnant pause. "Who the hell is it then?" D demanded.

"One way to find out." C brandished the borrowed wand, undid his locking spell, and put a hand on the door handle. They all yelled a protest, but it was too late, he was already turning the handle, the door was opening, and the naked man who had been slumped up against the door fell back onto the hall carpet. There was silence from the three men.

"Shit," A breathed. "_Shit_."

"Hermione did say we always show up near you," B said, wide-eyed.

Neville took a shaky step forward to get a closer look. And then another. The naked man was pale and covered in fresh cuts and scratches, but the face was perfectly recognisable. There was no doubt about it - there were now six Neville Longbottoms at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Extra long chapter to make up for the delay... please leave a comment!


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